And it Just Keeps Moving
by Hersenschim
Summary: Things are going decently for Wally West, but when he is held responsible for two civilian casualties, he is forced to stop and face the monstrosities of his past and learn anew what it is 'to deal' while still serving justice from behind the crimson mask
1. Chapter 1: Mistakes

Chapter 1: Mistakes

"It's moving towards the Science Centre! We have to get ahead of it, now!" Superman's voice was loud and imposing as he hovered authoritatively over the panicking crowd.

Wonder Woman thrust herself into the air, pulling down on a lamppost. It struck the pavement with a dull metallic thud and the asphalt cracked beneath it. The crowd's voice rose and fell as it backed away from the makeshift barrier. They were a mindless, ebbing sea, and their cries were like those of frightened sheep, far from safety and sanity.

"They're panicking- we have to keep them back!" Wonder Woman clenched her jaw and kicked down another streetlamp. Superman grimaced.

"Leave it to crowd control! Don't waste your energy here- it's _that_ we need to worry about," he paused briefly, then scrutinized the area. "Booster Gold! Herd them!" He yelled down and pushed forward, towards the rising, acrid smoke- puffing and dissolving into the contaminated air like ink in water. A young blonde swerved to the side, and, her crimson cape catching a draught while letting him pass, swooped down towards the agitated throng below.

"Move in!"

Below, blurs of various colours and speeds circled its large, metallic feet. Superman grunted and drove himself into its bulging, gleaming shoulder. Staggering forward, it bellowed in fury, drowning out Dove's cries for civilians to seek safety. Wonder Woman veered around its temple, lassoing its head in an attempt to pull it forward.

"Dove! Where's Flash?" Hawk suddenly turned at screamed over the noise. "Don't tell me he needed a snack _now_ of all times!" The heat and smoke stung their eyes, and their sweat felt thick and poisonous as it poured down their faces. Their suits were melting against their skin.

"Where is Black Canary for that matter?- Hey, look out!" The brothers ducked for cover a large, leaden foot came smashing down on a public fountain. Water exploded from beneath its shoe and vapourized into sharp, hot steam.

From left of the intersection there was a cry of pain and frustration as Wonder Woman hit and slid into the scorching ground. Her lasso hung loosely from its thick, stalwart neck.

Gargantuan metal fingers grasped blindly at the air; Superman, dodging aggravatedly, slipped through the spaces in between.

Suddenly, it swung around and began its painful, angry descent. Wound between its legs was a long, stretched, purple body and a mop of flaming hair. Beside its feet, a tall, well built, sweaty figure in red.

"The bigger they come, the harder they fall!" He chuckled triumphantly, looking at its silent, fallen body. The Elongated man twisted tightly around its ankles, and a small, reddish-blue insect seemed to crawl up towards its head.

"Good job, Flash." Superman's voice was tired and stoic. He floated down gently to where Wonder Woman was sprawled. She lay on the dented ground, awake and still.

"Diana?"

"Behind you!"

Superman pivoted.

It was up again. The Elongated Man lay writhing on the ground, screaming for God in the steaming water that gushed from the broken fountain. Hawk was tending to an unconscious Dove, smashed into the rid side of the City Museum. The Flash was dancing and teasing, screaming obscenities in front of it in a desperate attempt to distract.

"This is my town!" He screamed. "No one gave you the right to destroy it!"

Flash swore at it. Its attention was now on him. Flash grinned, panting. "Try me!" He screamed once more and took off down the main street. An infuriated, deep-throated, metallic growl ensued, followed by its thunderous, echoing steps and the futile screams of people trying to get out of the way.

"What the hell is he doing!" Green Arrow waved his bow below Superman's confused, suspended figure. Wonder Woman twitched in his bulky arms.

"I don't know, but it had better work!" Superman pushed through the crackling smoke and the heated air, following the trail of black, smoking footsteps down the street. Green Arrow followed in his shadow, jumping tentatively over the scalding cracks in the tarmac.

In the low contrast of the smoky horizon, a building began to collapse.

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The Flash set his jaw resolutely. He felt his suit and mask become waxy and thin against his skin. He was running relatively slowly, compared to his maximum speed, and, now, he was waiting for the monstrosity behind him to grind to a slow, mechanical halt and crash to the pavement. Any time now….

He hopped over a fire hydrant, pushing and screaming for civilians to get out of the way. Most of them had already done so out of instinct.

It began to decelerate sooner than he expected, for as he turned onto the fourth street, its steps became slower and shorter. But he was distracted, and, soon, his steps mimicked those of his follower's, almost coming to a complete stop.

He pivoted in a dazed shock. There was a deafening sound of something large being wound down but, in his mind, all he saw were the two faces before him, withered, old, familiar, and all he heard were their strident, desperate screams of fear and awe.

"Wally!" Superman screamed. But it was too late for him to hear, for he was in a sedated state of frozenness, neither able to move nor speak.

Within seconds, it came down with a deafening roar. The echo resounded for what seemed like an eternity, and all the city was silent.

Superman landed in front of the Flash. Blood was seeping, gushing onto the pavement from beneath its heavy, hot, leaden palm.

"Wally!" The Flash was looking past him, over his shoulder, at the formless, crumpled entity. Wonder Woman looked up at Superman.

"Clark," she said quietly. "I'm fine now, you can put me down." She was gently allowed onto her feet.

"Wally!" Superman looked at the pool of blood beneath its large metal hand. Civilians were beginning to congregate around the entrance to the street, buzzing; the noise was heightening. Green Arrow was trying to push them back, creating a sort of crisscrossed barrier with overlapping arrows whose tips stuck into the tarmac.

Suddenly, Superman punched Flash across the face, silent and exasperated.

Flash swore and looked up, bewildered.

"You had time to save them! You had at least ten seconds to save them!" Wally's face was blank, unresponsive. Superman grunted in frustration. "Don't you understand! We have casualties! _We have casualties!" _Flash's face suddenly changed.

"Oh, God." He stared in slow realisation at the expanding pool of blood. "Oh, God." He bent over and threw up. Superman stood before him, observing him silently as he wiped his mouth.

"Clark, he saved us." Behind him, a figure drew itself to full height. "He had the idea that I should shrink and get inside of it and screw it up- change the wiring and all that." The Atom sniffed and rubbed his nose. "He found the Elongated Man by himself, who was supposed to be on leave, and gave me time to climb in. And with something like this in a crowded city, I mean-"

"He had time to save them. I watched it."

"Clark-"

"What is the point of being the fastest man on Earth when you have the opportunity to save but don't do anything! Those casualties could have been avoided. He just stood and watched them die."

Superman was livid. He walked over to its unmoving body and grunted as he pushed the bloody hand of its flattened victims. They lay mangled beneath it, in the gore, heat and dust.

"Hey!" A young, feminine voice called from over a building. "We think we might have an idea of who'se behind this!" Supergirl stood smirking self-righteously on its dusty rooftop, Lex Luthor's scowling face in her firm grasp. Black Canary sat hunched beside her, an expression of significant disturbance on her face as she regarded the two decimated bodies below.

Superman glared at the Flash, then looked over his shoulder to Green Arrow and the Atom where awaiting his command.

"Arrow- keep the crowd away and try to get the bodies identified. Atom, check on Elongated Man and Hawk and Dove," he then turned to look at the Flash. "You- we'll talk about you later. Diana, come with me."

His lips twitched derisively and he climbed into the air, his cape fluttering behind him. Wonder Woman arched her back slightly in an attempt to stretch her sore muscles and slowly and gently rose into the air, her compassionate gaze resting on the Flash until they landed on the rooftop and out of view.

Flash looked at the Green Arrow, who had already resigned to his orders, and the Atom helplessly. He suddenly felt very tired.

A short, slight woman had had the gall to hop over Green Arrow's arrow-barrier and slide past his watch. Flash stared, fatigued yet unabashed, pursing his lips in the silence of his disbelief. She stood, nearly hysterical in her tears as the Green Arrow tried to calm her down. Her auburn hair was stringy and wet with sweat and angry tears, and she rubbed her puffed, crimson-circled eyes furiously with her hands.

The Flash's shoulders hunched over, and he wondered if it was still worth it to ask, or to offer.

He wondered if he had the courage.

He looked at his hands. They were quivering.

He wondered if he ever did.


	2. Chapter 2: Debriefing

Chapter 2: Debriefing

Wally lay on the bed in the medical unit, which smelt blank and antiseptic. He was at the Watch Tower, and there was about a half-hour till his debriefing.

He had never really liked them particularly, but he had never really dreaded going to one before- not the way he did now.

He exhaled slowly. It was the sort of unnerving panic you felt before getting a shot or a woman slapping you in the face. But there was a tinge of guilt, and he felt it in the pit of his stomach that continued to spasm long after the images were gone. He hadn't felt this nauseous since Uncle Barry's death.

The room's immaculate boxiness hurt his eyes and confused him. He was already dizzed by fatigue, although he realized it was purely emotional and nothing else.

The medics were not currently there, so he had his mask off, next to him on the table. Not that it mattered. Most people in the League knew who he was. Most of them sauntered the corridors without their masks when they were up here anyway.

He had heard that the Elongated Man had been on the verge of paralysis, and he had had a large amount of electrical current sent through his body, and that something to do with his elasticity had saved him from the dark clutches of death. But he hadn't heard more than that. Besides, Elongated man had been taken to a proper, full-scale medical facility.

His short auburn hair was still sweaty, plastered to his forehead in a unique, stylized curl, which he had tried to get rid of combing it with his fingers.

He had intended on taking a shower but Booster Gold was still in it. His singing was quite infamous among the members of the League.

Maybe Don would have been fast enough. Or Hank. Or Clark, had he not been swooping around with Diana, like a frail damsel of a bygone day, in his arms.

He didn't like this new feeling, this feeling of doubt and inadequacy. It was something new, or, at least, forgotten. He had never before stopped to question himself about his speed. The question of "how fast is fast enough?" – it never really occurred to him that there would come a day when he would have to step back and admit that he was slower than he thought he was. That he _just wasn't fast enough_.

What do you do, when you are a victim to a reluctant body? A body that won't move regardless of what you tell it? His body had never disobeyed him before. Was it giving out on him? Was he getting old? He was still only twenty-three.

He sighed. The more he tried not to think about it, the more he did. Maybe he had had ten seconds- he didn't remember. In fact, He didn't remember much at all, only Superman punching him… and their distorted, gored bodies and faces. No, he didn't remember the ten seconds.

This sucked. His mind was drawing blanks.

He had thrown up again when he arrived, leading Diana to believe he had incurred some sort of concussion.

Or maybe she just felt sorry for him, though there really was no reason to be.

The door opened slowly.

"Wally?"

It was Diana. He stretched his neck backwards. He was comforted when he saw her sympathetic face and he grinned impishly.

"I know this isn't the best time to be, but I'm a little bit hungry."

Diana smiled, sitting down on the bed beside him; the bedsheets crinkled together as she adjusted herself on its edge.

"How are you feeling?

"Me? You're the one that got smashed into the road. I'm fine. Just hungry."

"You look a little bit pale."

Wally squirmed uncomfortably.

"Yeah… it isn't everyday that I get to see people squashed like tomatoes like that. And… I guess that…. That this is the first time I've felt like I wasn't fast enough." He paused. "Yeah I know everyone says I had ten seconds, but I honestly don't remember those ten seconds."

Diana looked disconcerted, and a troubled silence ensued.

"My body went into shock," she said at large. "If Clark hadn't been carrying me, he could have saved them. I don't know why he was carrying me if he thought he might have to save people."

"He was probably relying on me. And I screwed up. No surprise though. I always screw up. I'm Screw-Up-Wally. Not to mention Screwball-y Wally. You know, like Screwball Squirrel? Man, I used to love that cartoon." He laughed, but it was laced with a slight, subtle bitterness.

Diana looked into his light, reflective eyes and saw panic's silent, unyielding hold. Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around him, loosely at first. She felt him quiver in her grasp. He was terrified.

"Just tell Bruce everything that happened, and it will all be okay. He's more understanding than you think he is."

"Uh-huh. You're forgetting Bats has issues with me. And Dick Grayson for that matter, who also happens to be my one of my best buddies. It's not any surprise Nightwing was never asked to be a part of the League." He set his chin on her shoulder and closed his burning eyes. "Whatever. I guess I'll get what I deserve. Hopefully things will go my way. Whatever happens, I'm still going to keep my 'Food Only' credit card."

Diana laughed and kissed the side of his head.

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Ray rubbed his chin as he exited the board room, patting a nervous Wally on the back as he entered.

"He's all yours, West."

Wally looked back over his shoulder to see Diana smiling anxiously at him as the doors closed, then moved on forward.

"Sit." Bruce's stoic voice commanded. Wally obeyed. He was as frightened as hell.

What if Bats yielded to his prejudices? What if he was kicked out of the League? He didn't know how to be anything at all, other than the Flash. He had been the Flash, or at least the Kid Flash, since he was twelve. How would he survive? Panic was rising in his throat, and he fidgeted apprehensively.

There had always been something about Bruce that unsettled him. Perhaps it had been Dick's stories of manipulation and insanity as well, but then Dick was always quick to criticize. But he had never received the same feeling of warmth or acceptance he enjoyed from the other members of the league from Bruce. His cold indifference was something foreign to him, for Wally's world was generally that have fun, friendship and, not ironically, stereotypical hedonism, something Bruce's whole persona defied.

Bruce started the recording device. It was built into the table, along with playback and teleconferencing equipment, supplied, as always, by Wayne Industries.

"Flash?"

"Yeah?"

"So what happened?"

"What happened when? What?"

His anxiety came across as puckishness. Bruce raised his eyebrows in undisguised impatience.

"Apparently everything was fine until Palmer got inside it and stopped it. We had two fatalities because you just stood there and did nothing. So I heard."

Wally reclined in his chair. His eyes were dull, and he rubbed his suddenly sleepy eyelids. And there was a silence.

"Well?"

"I wasn't fast enough," Wally responded flatly. It had come out more easily than he had expected.

"All witnesses _and_ a news chopper say you had at least ten seconds. You easily could have done something."

Wally frowned.

"What is this 'ten seconds' deal everyone is talking about? I seriously don't remember having ten seconds to save anybody. If I _had had_ ten seconds, I probably would have been able to save them _and_ had to time to get a snack. But, really- my mind is a blank."

"You _don't_ remember, or you _don't want to_ remember?" Bruce regarded Wally's sullen face. The desperation in his eyes had evaporated into a nondescript incredulity. Bruce sighed. "I realize it is traumatizing sometimes, to realize that you made a mistake, but the only way you won't make it again is if you face it."

Wally rubbed his face. He was tired. And hungry.

There was another silence. Wally scratched his head.

Suddenly, his face broke, and the desperation had returned, unhidden and unabashed.

"I'm sorry. I…" he began to apologize fretfully. Bruce remained indifferent. "I don't… I couldn't move."

"You couldn't move?"

"My body just wouldn't move. It was stuck. And my brain was frozen."

"Hm."

Wally looked at the floor.

"It… it was scary."

Bruce sighed once more.

"Wally, did you incur any injuries during the mission?"

"Not that I know of. I feel a little sick, but that's about it. Oh… and I'm hungry."

Bruce was silent.

Wally opened his mouth as if to say something, then breathed out and pursed his lips.

Finally, Bruce rose, and turned of the recording device.

"Clark suggested that you should lead the recovery effort for Keystone, since its your city. My feeling, though, is that you should have three months of mandatory leave. And, possibly, some therapy. J'onn and Diana agree with me."

"What!" Wally's eyes were wide with disbelief. "But… I don't need therapy! And… but… who's-"

"Hawk and Green Arrow are going to be in charge of it. And we don't want you continually freezing up on us, therefore therapy is also mandatory."

"But it was a question of speed, right? I can train some more-"

"Wally-" He turned around and faced him. "Debriefing is over, and I have given you my orders. You are to leave for the surface in three hours."

Wally sat, dumbstruck. The verdict was definitely not as bad as he had thought it would be, but three months away from the League? What would he do for three months? Three _whole_ months?

What a punishment- three months to sit inside himself to think and scream and be bored out of his sanity. Three months to sit inside himself, and face himself.

"Wally?"

"I said I was sorry…."

"Wally," Bruce shifted his weight onto the chair. "It just doesn't matter. Now, I have a meeting with the U.S. government's League liaison, and I will have to explain why we had two unnecessary losses, so if you will excuse me." Bruce indicated the open door.

Wally shrugged, rising slowly and deliberately, and began towards the door.

"Wally?" Wally sighed and looked over at Bruce. "The therapy part was a joke."

Wally smirked and ambled out the door, heading straight towards the food court. Don, in an arm sling, waved and called him over to his table. Grabbing a tray, he piled it up with as many burgers and muffins he possibly could, deciding to add five soft drinks to the meal when he got to the end of the aisle.

He plonked himself down onto a chair and began to eat.


	3. Chapter 3: Cause

Chapter 3: Cause

Diana caught up with Bruce in the hallway.

"How did it go?"

Bruce shook his head in mild irritation.

"They aren't pleased. Two casualties. Still no answers. We need to question Lex further, but he hasn't given us anything yet, although I'm beginning to believe he was really actually in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I meant with Wally." Her words were concerned and slightly accusatory. Bruce, as always, was indifferent

"He should be at the surface about now. And we will be rid of his incessant jabber."

Diana sighed and brushed stray locks of hair off her shoulders.

"You're too hard on him Bruce. He's just a kid."

"Technically, he's not. And no one affiliated with the League is a 'kid'. We have lives to worry about. Their safety is our responsibility."

"But sending him away-"

"Oh, by the way, I told him you agreed with me on that decision."

"Bruce!" She was visibly annoyed. "You should have kept him here, not sent him to someplace where he will be alone. God knows what he could do himself. I have seen good people do horrible things to themselves out of guilt."

"I don't think he is that type of kid. Besides, I had to give him some sort of punishment. I don't want it to seem like certain Leaguers can get away with things others can't. And, if this gets to court, we can't have it happen while he is on duty or on a mission."

Diana stopped walking and tugged slightly at his cape in an attempt to have Bruce focus his attention on her.

"Bruce, I genuinely think he feels traumatized, and that he isn't showing it because he doesn't want to appear weak in any way. I mean, we're all super heroes, but we're human too. We both know how painful it is to watch innocent people die, even if they are people we don't know-"

"Clearly the problem here is that Wally did know who those people were, but conveniently declined to tell us."

Diana raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Oh?"

"The bodies were identified by a young woman at the scene as Rudolph and Mary _West_."

"Wally's relatives?"

"More specifically, Wally's _parents_."

"He watched his parents _die_ and didn't say anything about it!"

"Apparently so," Bruce mumbled and recommenced his journey down the long corridor.

Diana turned around.

"Oh, great Hera." She shuddered and chewed on one of her fingernails in superficial thought.

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Wally unlocked the door to his apartment. It was in the same condition it had been six months ago, the last time he had been down here for leisure. Rent paid by the League for an old, empty, stagnating apartment he could call his own every time they decided to chuck him off the Watch Tower for whatever reason it was- distracting the staff, secretly binging on the food stores, _'harassment'_….

"Shall I leave you now?" J'onn's voice was gentle and serious.

Wally shrugged, trying to come off as apathetic. He wanted the company.

"Don't you want to come in?"

J'onn looked around.

"Not particularly."

Wally grinned.

"Hey, it's not _that_ bad." He nudged a pizza box tentatively with his shoe. Judging from the way it pushed back there was still something in it. Six-month old pizza. _Gross_. Wally grimaced. "Yeah…. I have three-months to clean this up anyway."

J'onn nodded, his expressionless 'human' face twitched in what Wally took to be amusement. Wally twitched back.

J'onn began to turn away.

"Wait, J'onn?" Wally had given more of himself away in his tone of voice than he'd hoped for. J'onn faced him again. "You guys will stop by once in a while, right?"

"Perhaps. I shall relay the day's events to John and Shayera when they return from their mission. I'm sure they will take the time to see you now and again."

He twitched once more and turned to walk down the hallway, nodding in greeting to an surly old woman and her cat. Wally watched, and with every step J'onn took, he felt gradually hollower.

J'onn stepped into the elevator, and Wally's door clicked shut.

He looked across the living room. His answering machine was beeping. Messages?

He remembered that he had wanted to change his answering message. People had complained about it. It was the type of answering message that a person who called couldn't be sure whether he had dialed the right number or not, with Wally making weird noises to a German electronica remix of the 'Peanut-Butter-Jelly' song in the background.

He didn't bother speeding over. He didn't feel like it. It took him about ten seconds to get the answering machine. Damn you, ten seconds. He slitted his eyes in his annoyance, chastising himself for bothering to count.

The police had left a message for him, telling him that his parents had been in an 'fatal accident' and they were truly very sorry. Aunt Iris had left him a message as well, the content of which he was still unsure about.

Dick Grayson had left one message, that he'd be stopping by within the next week or two.

He smiled. He was glad. He hadn't talked to Dick in a while. There was a lot to talk about. A lot.

Feeling slightly better, he ambled over to the fridge to check if there was anything either worth having or that had not expired. He found two frozen dinners in the freezer, and a can of frozen beer.

Shoving the two frozen dinners into the microwave, he rubbed the can of beer between his hands, fast enough for the beer within to liquefy.

The dinners finished cooking and threw himself onto the dilapidated sofa, hopelessness shining before him in all its glory as he shoved the food resignedly into his mouth.

It was tasteless and cardboardish and it seemed to catapult him onto a new level of paranoid futility.

They had confiscated his suit. Even if he had decided to be the Flash behind their backs, he would have to find a way to retrieve it. Not that he'd want it back, he supposed. Someone in the League had recently come up with a new 'magic material', new fabric that breathes more easily. It probably hadn't been tested very well. Considering most people's suit had begun to melt during the face-off with… metal-face?

He suddenly paused.

He wasn't quite sure yet what that thing had been. Not that he ever really _thought_ deeply about what he was fighting. He usually left that up to those who thought themselves _intellectually _superior. But still, this last 'opponent' had enthralled, even terrified him in a sense- not because of what it was, but because of the impact it had made in his life,

His life.

He started choking.

What if they decided to sue him in court? For criminal neglect, or some junk? What they sent him to jail, for the _rest of his life_? _Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!_

"Calm down, Wally-" he blurted out loud. "They won't let them take you."

He groped around for the remote, then realized he had been sitting on it for all of thirty seconds. Exhaling impatiently, he flipped on the T.V.

Evening news. Ew… wait- oh, crap… that was him.

The video was significantly zoomed in on one section of the street, replaying the sudden and bloody descent of the dying metallic Cyclops over and over till he was too sick to look at it. In the corner of the screen was a crimson blur he assumed to be himself,

A morbidly catchy headline accompanied the pixilated video: "Flash Freezes, People Die".

Couldn't he ever get some _peace of mind_ without _someone_ or _something_ reminding him?

He didn't want to watch it. People were mad, mad at him. He couldn't stand for people to be mad at him.

He flipped the channel.

It was an ad for men's jeans. He needed new jeans. The jean people needed a new model. He didn't like the model's butt. He probably had a better butt than the model, Running around all day, he had _damn well_ better have a better butt than the butt model. Perhaps, in the three months, he _could_ become a butt model. By the end of it, he'd be so rich that he would no longer need the League. Hah! Then, if they needed his super-duper speed, they would have to _beg him_ for it.

It was then that he realized that, although he didn't save people for the sake of saving people, though it was necessary to have an intrinsic need for justice to become a super hero in the first place, he did not do it for fun either. It was something else, something he didn't think about to often, because there was something unattractive about complexity to him, and he did not feel the need to be complex in that way.

He leaned back against the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair.

Something in the hallway 'meowed' brusquely and a loud series of cacophonic crashes ensued.

He suddenly just wanted to scream and yell and just trash the place, though he probably wouldn't have been able to make its condition much worse any way. But it was just so confused and tumultuous, this whole scenario, and it had seized control of his brain and wouldn't let him go.

He had let people die. He had let _people die_. _He_ had let _people die_. It had gone against everything he had grown up knowing, everything he had grown up believing. It had gone against everything he had vowed to himself in the suicidal silence of his bedroom the night of Uncle Barry's funeral.

He rolled off the couch and lay on the floor for a while, a cloud of dust puffing into the air as he hit the carpet. He stared unfocusedly at the various dents and scratches on the spotted ceiling, wondering how they got there in the first place.

It was really hot.

He rolled over and got up, smirking decisively.

He shuffled off to the bathroom, showered, brushed his teeth and changed into a pair of Foghorn Leghorn boxers, all of which took about a minute and a half- only because he stubbed his toe on the door stop and had to hop around for thirty seconds trying to make the pain go away.

He pulled the dusty comforter off the bed in the study, the only other room in the apartment, dragging two flat, drool-stained pillows with it. He then proceeded to stick his head out one of the windows- momentarily- to analyze the difference in temperature outside the building. At the twenty-third floor, a cool breeze was beginning to rise.

He sighed, turning back to stuff his Bugs-and-Tweety alarm clock and a two-liter Coke bottle filled with vodka he had found at the back of the fridge into an obscenely scribbled-on drawstring bag.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and proceeded to drag the comforter and his various pillows out of the apartment, neglecting to actually lock the door.

The surly old woman was still in the hallway, though the cat seemed to have abandoned her, probably out of derision and disgust.

She eyed at Wally threateningly, leaning against her walking stick, but, upon noticing that he was shirtless and pant-less, her scowl melted into a brazen smile of mischievous glee.

Slightly disturbed by the old woman's reaction, Wally hurried along, darting towards the stairs as opposed to taking the elevator which were, in his opinion, frighteningly claustrophobic and slow, not to mention stupid and inefficient.

He burst out onto the roof with a great sigh of relief and freedom. The door to the roof was never locked, but no one seemed to come up there anyway, considering that there wasn't much to see other than a sea of equally-sized, badly maintained, paint-chipped buildings and a long, dirty road that stretched too long to note the end of it. The light pollution was usually horrible, and the smog created diffracted halos of orange and yellow around the lampposts, but the lampposts were no longer working, possibly due to the day's events, and the sky was dark and breath-taking, glittering with tiny, fulgent dots that Wally longed to just reach up and grab.

He was finally somewhat relieved, and the heaviness of the guilt and panic had left him.

He spread out his comforter a few metres away from the numerous clumps of dusty antennae and miniature satellite dishes. Placing his alarm clock cautiously by his flat fortress of pillows and leaving his vodka bottle wrapped in his bag, he sprawled out like a starfish, somewhat happier than before, and invited sleep gratefully with open arms and thankful, drooping eyes.

……………………………………………………….

Yay! Two faves! Thanks for the support, guys.


	4. Chapter 4: Uncontrolled

I own Lydia. Everyone else is DC's biatch. 

To those who like Diana in this role… you'll see.

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Chapter 4: Uncontrolled

He had woken up that morning and just wanted to run. Not too fast, in case he broke some sort of barrier, but he wanted to sweat a little bit- to fill up his lungs and tense his calves until they both ached nicely. It was a desire that had throbbed inside of him for a while now, but something he wasn't able to fulfill on the Watch Tower for, despite its hi-tech treadmills and zero-gravity test rooms, it lacked the space that was so ubiquitous on the surface.

He had sped along the dusty road, past the invisible walls of the city, unmasked, sand flying in waves behind him as he began to accelerate forward. The day had been pleasant, slightly cooler than those before, and the sky had begun to cloud over, enveloping the vast, shining fields of wheat before him in a soothing beige ambience.

Ah, Kansas. Bread Basket of the Americas.

All the nuances of colour and sound were vivid and fresh and untainted by the smog and screeching that laced his everyday life.

He had finally felt free, uncaring, unrestrained by the unseen leashes of the city and its heat. He had finally felt like _himself_.

He had lain in the ambient light of the lush fields, amidst the flowers and rustling grass, listening to the sound of the air and the insects, his breathing soft and even in the calm of his meditation.

Usually, Wally hated silence. It was so awkward. So uncomfortable. Which was why Wally liked to talk, even when there was nothing to talk about. He disliked the discomfort and seriousness, and, occasionally, melodrama that silence brought between two people, and the frightening self-confrontation it brought in solitude.

But for once in his life, he appreciated the silence. He was able to contemplate things he didn't usually set his mind on, things he couldn't set his mind on amidst the screaming and cursing and insulting and yelling of orders and sirens at the Watch Tower.

He wasn't a stupid kid. He had never been stupid. Perhaps mediocre in terms of academic output, but not stupid. In some cases, he may have been considered profound, had it not been for his lack of self-restraint and constant need for movement.

Yes, he was profound, and he thought about profound things- God, existence, purpose- but he had never really felt confident about sharing them, for fear of ridicule and conflict. Strangely enough, he detested conflict, more so than people would have thought, and so much so that the slightest insinuation of malevolence would sometimes cause to resign to a silent depression, but, again, no one knew this, and so the perception of him remained as that of the happy-go-lucky jokester of the League.

And, sometimes, he thought, it was just better that way.

He had returned to his apartment at Keystone to find another message on his answering machine, the numbered buttons glaring accusingly at him for not checking earlier.

He hadn't recognized the voice at first. It was soft and uncertain, surprisingly gentle and familiar to the ear.

He had spaced out the first time listening to it, and so he had played it again with, the intention of comprehending the message.

'_Hi… hopefully this is the residence of Wallace West?'_ He remembered he had still not changed his answering message. _'If it isn't, just ignore the following message. It's… been a while. I just want to tell you that… I'm arranging a funeral for Rudy and Mary. You probably already know what happened to them. Please contact me if you can make it, and I'll give you the details.' _The soft, feminine voice cracked slightly. _'My number is 777-272-3098… oh, by the way, this is Lydia. Call me back when you can…. Bye.'_

For a moment, his mind was a blank. Then he snapped back.

_Lydia_.

He inhaled sharply.

It was an ominous name, and the recognition of it spasmed inside him until he could catch his breath, and wasn't before long that he realized he had almost been hyper-ventilating. His face was hot and prickly and, suddenly, the guilt of the previous few days began to creep back into his mind, making him feel weightless and dizzy.

He sat down slowly, his heart pounding in his ears, and began to whistle. It was a tuneless, chaotic song that came to his lips, but the suddenness of the situation needed to be dealt with and, for the moment that was his solution.

He watched the clock tick. The pendulum was slow and sedated. It had been a 'moving away' present from Aunt Iris, to keep track of time. Real time.

He closed his eyes. He had never openly shown any interest in religion or faith, and he was not illogical in most senses, but he suddenly found himself praying silently, calling on Mother Mary for strength and courage.

It was something he did out of habit more than anything else. Aunt Iris had always told him that, that, whenever in need, if he said a Hail Mary, the obstacle he faced would be gone. Secretly, he had done it many times, even on missions- speeding down interplanetary minefields, praying for strength and forgiveness under his breath.

But he needed it now.

He opened his eyes and stood up slowly, picking up the cordless phone from its cradle. The stickers on it were dirty and peeled, 'Wally' was scrawled untidily in hi-lighter down the antenna.

_777-272-3098_

"God," he muttered nervously under his breath and began to dial. The numbers beeped under his fingertips as they pushed down against the glowing plastic buttons.

He pressed down on the last number and raised the phone to his ear. He could hear the ring tone, rhythmically clear.

Suddenly, the tone went dead.

He had turned off the phone- aborted the call.

He didn't have the courage to do it, thought it wasn't really a surprise. He had known he wouldn't be able to do it.

He stood in the seclusion of his apartment, the silence punctuated by the ticking of the old clock, clutching the phone at his side.

He laughed quietly, but his voice was thick with cynicism. _Ironic_, he thought, the way he could predict himself. There was an empty satisfaction to it, knowing that things wouldn't change, wouldn't deviate from the future he had planned out for himself. It was strangely comforting, in a self-righteous sort of sense.

Wally's fingers slowly released the sticker-covered phone body and he threw himself onto the couch.

Sighing, he pressed his hands to his forehead, and, before he knew it, he had begun to sob.

**2222222222222222222222222222222222222222**

Bruce grunted in irritation. The screen before him blinked innocently, indicating the end of the search he had just run.

"Bruce?" A warm, soft hand caressed his shoulder.

"This is frustrating," he replied nonchalantly. "I can't seem to find anything that links anyone to the events that took place at Keystone." He swiveled in his chair and rose. "I got J'onn to do a scan of the robot. We even took it apart. It doesn't seem remotely like anything that either Lex or Cadmus would fabricate…. though I didn't really suspect Cadmus would really be involved in something like this."

Diana stepped back pensively.

" Perhaps whoever set the robot on Keystone wasn't only trying to make a statement?"

Bruce began running a process on another screen.

"There is no indication of anyone who could have made it. J'onn and I cross-checked each part and all the hardware and coded designs with templates from every engineering, tech and weapons company on file, including those based outside the United States, China, India and Ireland."

"You can't rule this out as a terrorist act."

"I didn't. Usually terrorist groups claim responsibility for these types of things, but we still are monitoring most groups' movements, and nothing has come up so far."

Diana sighed, leaning against the wall by the door.

"Shayera and John are upset that you sent Wally away." The change of topic was abrupt, but Bruce continued to type, appearing significantly disinterested. There was a brief silence, and Bruce hit a large blue key that merged several windows on the screen.

"They should tell me that themselves."

"You sent them on a mission the moment they returned."

"Giving me second hand information will not make me change my decision," he hit another key. "And I have been told by most people that it has been quite the pleasant change not to have him playing with the thermostat."

Diana pursed her lips.

"You're biased against him." Her analysis was flat.

"And what reason do I have to be biased?"

"You don't need to have a reason. You just are."

Bruce tapped impatiently on the keyboard.

"I take action if and when he is a liability. I do the same with everyone else." He said at large. Diana smiled cynically.

"You are biased, Bruce."

Bruce inserted a small round disk into one of the drives and the computer buzzed meditatively. He brought the drive up on the screen and dragged one of the files from one window into another.

"Since when have you been so concerned with Wally?"

Diana folded her arms.

"He's a nice kid. I think you are treating him unfairly. I miss his presence. So does everybody else. He lightens the place up."

"I don't believe you."

Diana's offense was apparent.

"What?"

"I think you've grown fond of him. Too fond." He swiveled in his chair. "It's not good to be that affectionate of co-workers. It compromises objectivity."

"And you're now telling me _who I can and cannot like_?"

"No, but you're becoming obsessed with Wally, who, I might remind you, is more than a good ten years younger than you."

"Bruce!" Diana slitted her eyes. "I am merely his friend. Shayera and John would show the same concern," she breathed slightly. "What? Does it vex you that I am _able_ to form relationships? That I can talk about things that are slightly _meaningful_ outside of _us_?"

The corners of Bruce's lips twitched in derisive amusement, but the rest of his face remained stoic.

"The fact that you claim to talk meaningfully with Wally amuses me." He tapped another key. "You can do what you want, but what really _does_ vex me, as you put it, is that we have about twenty two missions engaged simultaneously- one, a high priority, that is not even close to being rectified, that incurred the first civilian casualties that we have _had in months_, and _you_ are _hung up_ about _Wally_." His last words were hard and accusatory. He looked up at Diana, seething mutely behind her folded arms.

He turned back to face the keyboard. Not bothering to look his way, she floated out, noiselessly, disregardingly.

The automated doors buzzed to a close, and Bruce smirked in the vast solitude of the room.

000000000000000000000000

I think I could have done better.

P.S.: Nightwing fans, be prepared!


	5. Chapter 5: Nostalgia

Nightwing has arrived!

The next two/three chapters are more about Wally. Chapter 8 will explain more about the robot and its origins… and Diana's 'feelings'.

Note: use of language and references to Canadian bands. Beware!

Note #2: D.C. fans will notice that, from now on, there will be a few references to Donna Troy (Wonder girl/Darkstar/Troia (Diana of Themiscyra's doppelganger)), Linda Park (Wally's future wife in the D.C. universe), and the original Titans. If you are clueless as to who those people are, here are a few good links. Remember to add the www part before it, though (the links don't seem to show up if I add them on for you-also remember to get rid of the spaces in between).

hyperborea . org / flash / linda. html

hyperborea . org / flash / donna . html

hyperborea . org / flash / titans . html

Also there's some pretty spiffy stuff on Dick and Wally:

hyperborea .org / flash/ wally . html

hyperborea . org / flash / animated . html

hyperborea . org / flash / nightwing . html

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Chapter 5: Nostalgia

It was about four in the afternoon that Wally got the call from Dick. He was sitting on the balcony, listening to Our Lady Peace and Alexisonfire and staring out into the horizon, and he hadn't noticed the slender, pony-tailed man walking jauntily towards the building. The phone had rung, loud and sudden in dull din of the afternoon, and he had nearly fallen off the railing, but had caught his balance and zipped to the over.

"Wall?" The voice on the other end was distorted by static.

"Huh?" Wally realized that he was still wearing his headphones.

"Hello?"

"Who is this?" The phone crackled.

"Wall?"

"Dicky?"

"Wall!"

"Dicky!"

"Took you long enough!"

"Hey! Where the hell are you?"

"In the lobby."

"What lobby?"

"3929 Branson Boulevard West, Keystone- right?"

"Uh… hey- wait a minute! That's where I live!"

"Yeah… I know- what's your code?"

"What code?"

"Your code to let me into the building?"

"Right… I forget…hold on a sec…."

"Jesus, kid!"

"Back- uh… I think its 1313."

"Okay- thanks… is that your apartment number?"

"Yeah, but I'll be down in a sec."

"Literally, eh?"

"Ha- you can bet your life on it."

He had barely released the receiver from his grip, but within seconds he had sped down the staircase, slowing down to a more normal, slightly aggressive speed as he emerged from the stairwell. He lunged forward and grabbed Dick around the legs. Dick yelled and hit the marble flooring with a painful thud. A woman stepping out of the elevator eyed them contemptuously.

"Oh god… that… hurt. Please warn me when you are going to do that again."

"But what's the fun in _that_?" Wally grinned and pulled Dick onto his feet. Dick grinned back, rubbing his back tentatively, then pulling Wally forward into a brief, masculine hug.

"Man, it's been a while!"

"Yeah- I can't believe how time just goes like that, huh?" Wally paused as Dick stretched slightly, attempting to crack his tight, well-muscled shoulders. Wally stepped back slightly, suddenly becoming conscious at how much they had both changed.

It had been years since he had seen Dick, and years since the original Titans had dissolved, shortly before they had both made their fateful ascensions to Nightwing and the Flash. There were new Titans were around, so he heard, but they seemed to lack the s novelty, spunk, warmth and, arguably, naiveness that the originals did. Silently, Wally's heart had broken with the dispersion of the Titans, but their lives were all too different now and the memories too long ago to mend the bonds that had once been so strong. Though he, Hank and Don were the only three of the originals to join the League, they never mentioned it amongst themselves, and when they did, it was never fondly. But Wally mutely remembered and honoured all the rest of them, their names, their personas, their faces, their voices- it was all too fresh in his mind.

Despite everyone else's disillusionment with the Titans, Dick and Donna had always kept in touch with him. They had been a trio back then, inseparable and uncannily in-tune with each other's inner-workings, and they had loved each other like own blood. They had helped each other through their times of struggle and suffering, and they had sweat through it all together- through Donna's traumatic discovery of her omnipotent bloodline, through Dick's emancipation of a Robin he hated and the shadow of a Batman whose presence he despised, and through Wally's slow, anguished acceptance of Barry Allen's death.

There were still times that Wally, in the occasional solitude of the Womb, had wished that Dick or Donna were there with him, and he hated that fate had drawn them so far apart. But they were all older now, though, busier with their own ideas and affiliations, and the time and leisure youth had spared them was gone.

Wally regarded his friend in gratified reminiscence. He still possessed the same hard, determined face and the same pensive, unreadable eyes, though he seemed to have grown a little taller and leaner since last they met. His hair was long, dark and well-washed, pulled back into a casual low ponytail that sprouted at the top of his neck. Though it was summer, he was attired in black jeans, a light black jacket and black tanker boots, though Wally attributed this bizarre choice of clothing to the fact that Dick had grown up with Bruce in Gotham. The only item of clothing on Dick's body that was not a shade of some sort was the tee-shirt he was wearing under his jacket, a sort of navy blue gradient with a large white stripe going down one of the sides.

He realized that Dick was observing him as well, though in a more scrutinizing fashion that he would have expected from someone he had known for so long. Two seconds later, he realized that Dick was merely reading his shirt.

"'I Get Paid to Piss You Off'?"

Wally grinned impishly.

"So- wanna check out the city, or see my apartment first?"

Dick rubbed his tanned cheek.

"Yeah, I'm sort of tired from trying to figure my way around here- plus I need a beer."

"Then apartment it is." Wally smirked and indicated the stairwell. Dick groaned.

"Man, what is it _with you and stairs_?"

"Hey- it's good exercise! Keeps your legs in shape," He slapped the back of his calf puckishly. "Thirteenth floor, then. Race ya-"

**111111111111111111111111111111111111111**

Dick unzipped his jacket and threw it over the couch back, leaning back smugly in observation of the label on the beer can he was holding. Wally smirked triumphantly.

"You took the elevator and I _still_ beat you."

"Well, its not as if ever stood a chance, now did I?" Dick sipped his beer and made a face. "Man, this stuff is terrible."

"I know. It's for binging purposes only. There's some Coke in the fridge if you want."

Dick shook his head in polite refusal. "Uh, no thanks. Maybe later."

"So how's it been going?"

Wally avoided answering the question with specifics. He was determined not let Dick know about his current suspension from the League- it would lead to a rant about its unfair and biased treatment of its members and, inevitably, to a rant about Bruce and his manipulative, egotistical, selfish attributes.

"Mm…okay, I guess. The usual."

"Wow, you seem pretty indifferent considering all the bad publicity you're getting. It's almost Bruce-like."

Wally winced at the reference to Bruce. In his mind, he and Bruce were polar opposites, and he refused to accept that he was manipulative in any way, though he did sometimes admit to being egotistical and selfish.

"Bad publicity?" He set down his own drink in puzzlement.

"Yeah. It's all over the news, bud." Dick used a deliberate, factual voice to emphasize the information. Wally cocked his ears.

"What? You're shitting me. In Gotham too?"

"Yeah."

Wally groaned and leaned back against the couch, raking a nervous hand through his uncombed auburn hair, finally resting his hand at slightly below his crown. He felt his cheeks begin to burn.

"Man, this blows."

"Yeah, I saw the footage. Not cool. And… uh, there's been a lot of League-bashing going on too."

"Like what?"

Dick sighed, attempting to appear sympathetic.

"They're saying that Leaguers who can't take the pressure should resign because it's not helping."

"And I'm assuming they're referring to me? Gah, ungrateful bastards." Wally sighed miserably and slouched in his seat. "I guess they have a point though… dammit. Dammit." He slapped the armrest violently with the side of his fist. Dick exhaled impatiently. Wally suddenly began to drill his fist into the side of the couch.

"I'm sorry, Wall. I still think you should have gone solo and come with me."

"But that's no longer solo."

"Still, it's better than the League."

"What does the League have to do with this?" Wally could sense Dick's bitterness creeping into the conversation, but he was not about to let Dick's vindication sully his own perception of it and his own role. "The League provides for me, and I provide my services for the League, and we're all happy. It's very simple."

"Dude, you are in denial. They don't respect you. They're treating you like a kid. Manipulating you do the shit they don't feel like doing. No surprise. Look who's in charge." The grimness of his taut face indicted that he was referring to none other than Bruce. Wally didn't reply. "I'm not stupid. I know that, right now, the only reason you're sitting here is because the League doesn't want _to touch you_ until people have forgotten about it- and that's not going to be a while."

"It is understandable, though."

Dick had caught the defensive undertone of his voice.

"Why do you always insist on defending the League? You're worth more than the credit they give you, Wall."

"Not everyone in the League is like Bruce, Dick. He's just one person. There are hundreds of other people, good people, that make it worth belonging to."

"Then where are they now- when you _need_ them? Now?"

Wally was slightly taken aback by the question, not because of Dick's interrogative tone, but the acuteness of it and the speed of his response.

"Wait, you didn't come all the way to Keystone to counsel me, did you?"

"No, I have other business to take care of- so I thought I'd just crash here, but after watching all that's been going on, I thought you might need someone to help you through this."

Wally sat up defensively.

"Look, _I'm fine_. There's nothing _to_ get _through_. I'm sure everyone has had their days, and I'm having mine. That's all it is."

"I know you well enough to know that you're _not_ fine, so don't tell me you don't feel like shit because I know you do." Dick's voice was disconcertingly aggressive, and Wally was left slightly stunned.

"So what- do you want me _to agree with you or something_?"

"Yes." Dick replied flatly.

"Okay, fine. I feel like shit. I want to die. Happy?"

"Yes."

"Jesus," he leaned back bewilderedly. Dick face melted into a smug half-smile and, suddenly, Wally was reminded of Bruce.

**222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222**

"Mah, tha wush a goo shnack." Wally mumbled, taking a chunk out of his fifty-sixth sour-cream glazed doughnut. The heat had caused the sugar to melt, forming a small, glistening drip on his chin. Dick grinned, slurping on his lemon slush.

"Keystone eateries aren't that bad. I'm surprised."

"Damn fucking straight."

They stood by the intersection, waiting for the light to change. A crane screeched forward two blocks down. Wally licked his fingers and pointed.

"Mm. That's one of the buildings Metalface knocked over. Luckily it was due to be torn down anyway."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and the Science Centre got pretty screwed over too. I think Hank and Oliver are helping the effort downtown. I don't know if I'm supposed to go anywhere near there though."

"Why not?"

"I dunno. I feel awkward saying 'hi' when I'm out of uniform. Plus, you never liked Hank so… we won't go there, I guess."

"You should have brought your uniform down. It would have been like old times."

"Three months _mandatory_ leave, remember? Emphasis on _mandatory_."

"Ha- like you honestly would have given a crap if you had your uniform with you."

"Shut your hole. As if you have yours."

"Correction, I'm wearing it under my clothes."

"Loser."

The light changed and they started across the street. Wally shoved his sticky hands into his pockets and began to whistle loudly. The sun had begun to set and the nightlife had begun to ooze out onto the street in trickles of made-up faces, trendy footwear and hedonic laughter, pulsing and throbbing in the grooves of the streets.

"It's not as showy as Gotham." Dick commented as they passed a group of wealthy young smokers. They were congregated outside the entrance to one of the high-profile nightclubs on the street, and loud, pulsating beats resounded from within its open doors. One of the women, dressed in a shimmering, mauve summer dress and knee length stilettos, winked at him seductively, sucking on her cigarette between lush, rouged lips. Wally, and the woman's perceived significant other, grunted simultaneously in unhidden annoyance. Dick nodded acknowledgement and they continued to walk.

Wally suddenly stopped in his tracks. A look of severe traumatism appeared on his soft, freckled visage.

"What is it?" Dick tapped him on the shoulder.

Wally knitted his brows in solemn abstraction.

"I'm having a munchie," he announced at length.

"But you just ate fifty-six doughnuts!"

"Well, it's not really a munchie. It's more like a craving for banana rum."

"Banana rum? I didn't know you like rum."

"We've been apart too long, my friend." He smiled. "Come, I shall take you to the most amazing liquor store ever. And Wally knows a shortcut."

He darted down a narrow alley. Dick followed disconcertedly.

**33333333333333333333333333333333333333333333**

They emerged onto a narrow street. It was completely dark by now. One of the streetlamps blinked eerily and died.

'_Ben's Booze'_. The lights flickered dimly in the heat of the summer darkness, and the corrugated iron roof of the store glinted in the diffracted orange ambience of the smog-filtered light pollution of the street beyond. Next to the liquor store stood an old, weather-stained brick building. A discoloured, gothicly engraved plaque over the door indicated that it was residence to an poorly known insurance trust company. Next to it stood another brick building, its structure morbidly abstract and skewed in appearance, black against the glowing orange smog.

In the space between the liquor store and the insurance building, a hooker sat cross-legged in the dirt, smoking a contorted ceramic pipe.

"This is pretty far from where you live, eh?" Dick noted.

"I usually speed here. Remind you of Gotham in any way, Dicky?"

"Wise-ass."

"That's my middle name."

They advanced towards the store. Wally looked up to one of the windows over the store. It was blocked off amateurishly with a splintered plank of wood.

"That's where I lived when I first moved here, when Uncle Barry died." He indicated the window to Dick. Dick nodded pensively.

A small, wiry, auburn-haired woman emerged from the darkness of the insurance building doorway. Her features were distorted in the sable, heavy air. Wally observed her as she delicately made her way to a rusty car Toyota parked partially on the sidewalk.

Suddenly, two masked men jumped out from one of the shadowed pathways, grabbing her viciously at the wrists. The woman grunted weakly but declined to struggle.

Dick turned and darted forward towards the car in a quick, sharp movement. One of the men pivoted and attempted to pull out a revolver, but Dick, grabbing him deftly by the arm, pulled him forward and pushed the gun back against his forearm, breaking his grip and his wrist. As the man struggled to escape the agony of Dick's iron grasp, Dick tripped him back and, seizing both his arms, hurled him onto the bonnet of the car, denting it severely in the process. The other man released the fainting woman and lunged at Dick, only to find himself screaming in excruciating pain on the pavement, the heel of Dick's boot grinding into his forehead. The woman yelped and took the opportunity to jump into the dilapidated driver's seat and start the engine. Before Dick could say anything, she had raced down the pothole-spattered road and the tires screeched impatiently around the turn. Dick kicked the man viciously in the head. The other was already unconscious. He turned to Wally.

"What the hell!" he snapped in exasperation. "You didn't even _try_ to help!" Wally was backing away from the direction of the woman's exit, his eyes glinting with the same abiding panic and hysteria from the Watch Tower. Dick kicked the man once more as he began to stir. "What's wrong? Wall?"

"Trust me." He murmured. Dick looked concernedly bemused.

"Wall?"

"Go back to my apartment. I'll meet you there later."

"What? Wait-"

In a split second, Wally started forward.

A second and a half later, Wally was gone.

000000000000000000000000000

Gasp!

Where has Wally disappeared to? We shall see….

By the way, I don't particularly like Our Lady Peace- it just seemed to suit Wally. I'm beginning to think I should have made him a metalhead, though perhaps I should reserve that for Dick.


	6. Chapter 6: Trivial

Chapter 6: Trivial

Nightwing strode through the darkness, the wet grass crumpling beneath his feet. The concrete towers that lay siege to this small expanse of space were black against the night sky. Tall and critical, they peered in over the park gates, scrutinizing all those who stirred under their vigil.

The surface of the pond shimmered, and the full moon's poignantly serene face smiled in rippling water.

This was when he was most comfortable, when the night was heavy upon them, and he could cloak his face in the shadows of the dusky atmosphere. He had never really been fond of the day time- it was hot, bright and exposed, and he felt naked in its brilliance, and obsolete in the throb of its life.

He set his mouth in a stolid line, kicking a juice carton as he approached the water's edge. A figure lay sprawled and acquiescent where the grass ended in a mowed line and dissolved into mud.

Nightwing silently knelt by the still body. He lay, face up, eyes closed, arms crossed behind and cushioning his head, as if sedated in an afternoon siesta. His pale, exposed arms were sullied and purpled with bruises, and the blood that had trickled out from inside his clenched fist was still wet. The moon's pallid light had washed the colour from his face, and his cheeks glistening with dew and drying tears.

Nightwing breathed in. He had seen this before.

He reached out and gently rubbed a tear of his left cheek. The pale eyelashes brushed the white skin and the eyes fluttered open, grey in the luminosity of the moon's rays.

"Hey."

Wally weakly inclined his head, staring out across the pond, appearing temporarily unaware of what was going on around him. Nightwing slowly reached forward and tugged at Wally's wrist. Gently, he eased his bloody fingers apart, and Wally's hand yielded open. Two bullets, glistening and bathed in crimson, one partially embedded in his palm. Nightwing sucked his breath and examined the one that was free. Wally swallowed noisily. Behind them, a family of crickets began to chirp.

Wally suddenly sat up, bringing his knees up to his chin and folding his arms around his legs. He closed his bloody hand without removing the bullet. A blade off grass fell out of his hair.

Nightwing sat back cross-legged, gazing at Wally's defeated face. The tears were still wet on his cheeks.

Suddenly, Nightwing slapped the grass, and the silence was broken.

"Sometimes, I just don't get you. You know, you try so hard to appear open and funny and like you don't give a crap, but you_ squirm _and you_ suffer _and _just keep it all in_. I look at you and I see you _screaming_ with your mouth _shut_." His voice was harsh and critical. Wally bit his lip, avoiding contact with Nightwing's sharp, slitted eyes. " Why won't you just let it out?"

Wally rested his chin on the tops of his knees, and he felt them tremble with the cold. He closed his eyes. He rarely ever felt cold, for he was constantly moving. Now, he felt weak and fatigued.

He looked up slowly.

"How did you know I was here?"

Nightwing's response was a look of irritation. From somewhere on his person, he pulled out a small black pouch. He emptied the contents out onto the grass: a bottle of rubbing alcohol, some anesthesia, fingerprint powder, a small pair of binoculars, a magnifying glass, and a pair of tweezers.

"Give me your hand," he asked quietly. Wally stared at the ground, drawing further into himself. Nightwing growled. "Give me your _goddamn_ hand!" He leaned forward and grabbed Wally's wrist violently, pulling him forward as he reclined. Wally's face was apathetic, but his trepidation was apparent.

Forcing Wally's hand open, Nightwing poured a little alcohol on the wound, then dipped the tweezers into the bottle to sanitize them. The wound stung, but Wally's face remained unchanged. It was inspected carefully and laboriously, but the bullet was removed with a quick jab of the tweezers. Wally did not wince.

Nightwing held the bullet up to eye-level.

"How did this get in your hand?" His tone was threatening and authoritative, like that of a chiding parent. The trees surrounding the clearing rustled softly, in wake of a rising breeze. The crickets declined to chirp. There was suddenly pain in Nightwing's face.

"Who won't you answer me?"

Wally pouted sullenly. Nightwing lay the tweezers and the two bullets on the grass. He exhaled steadily, then turned to look at Wally.

"You know, I think of you almost every day, when I'm in Gotham. I think of the days when we were kids. I used to feel so good, every time you made me almost cry laughing. I don't know how many times I've told Barbara 'You've got to meet Wally, he's such a great guy- you'll wet yourself laughing'." He paused briefly, putting the magnifying glass back into the pouch. "We used to share everything, didn't we, back then?" He stared at the pouch. Wally shuddered slightly, and Nightwing looked up. "God, I hate this. I _hate_ this. I hate seeing you like this. This _isn't you_."

The corner of Wally's lips twitched faintly.

"Right."

The look of pain intensified.

"I only want to help."

"Well, poking and provoking isn't going to get you very far, is it?" Wally stretched out towards the water, swishing his hand about the small ripples that licked the muddy shore. Nightwing bit his lip and regarded the tiny waves. He pulled off his mask in an aggrieved muteness.

"Have we both become so different that you won't tell me?"

Some of the blood from Wally's hand puffed into the water, like a cloud of red ink in a glassy crystal sky.

"No. It's not that. Not that it would stop me from yakking away if it came to it."

"Then _what is it_?" The underlying impatience was revealed. "This isn't right. It's messed up. You're sitting in the middle of a park at two in the morning, more emotional than a pregnant woman on vodka, with a bullet wound in your hand and bruises all over your fucking body. And you're not being _heroic _in_ any way _by shutting yourself up."

Wally's forehead furrowed in indignation. Moonlight pooled around his tired form, causing him to appear a bemused silver apparition.

"Wait- you think I'm trying to be _heroic_?"

"Or arrogant. Take your pick."

Wally's pupils were suddenly small, sharp and scathing.

"You don't get it, do you?"

"I think I do."

"No, _you don't_, because if you did, we wouldn't be talking about this."

Dick snapped.

"What are you, _fourteen?_ The teen angst thing is old, and it doesn't suit you, and I'm seriously beginning to lose my patience. You know very well that the '_I don't want to talk about it- go away_' thing is going to get you sympathy, but you're not going to get any from me at the rate your going. Though maybe if_ Barry was still around_-"

"Just _shut it_!" In a blur of movement, Wally was on his feet, screaming and trembling. He began to feel very faint, but he could feel his blood begin to grow hot in his veins. "Barry and this conversation _do not mix_."

Nightwing resigned to silence, and Wally's shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion. His eyes were grey and lustreless. The silence between them was tight and tense, but the wind continued to pick up, and the night was alive around them.

"I'm not like you, Dick," he said at large. His tone was suddenly docile and reflective. "If I talk about it, I think about it, and if I think about it, I remember all the stuff that I've kept at the back of my mind, and I just…shut down."

Dick looked hesitant.

"That's all it is?"

"That's all it is."

Contempt began to leak into his voice, stabbing and condemnatory as it scraped the sides of Wally's ears.

"Then you're a coward."

Internally, Wally flinched in disbelief. Dick had called him a coward. Of the harshest, most critical things he had ever heard about himself, he had never associated himself or been associated with cowardice. But Dick had called him a coward. Dick had _judged_ him.

"It's not as simple as that," he attempted to refute the reproving remark.

"Let me guess- you're _not_ going to tell me about it."

"And why not? Just because you love to tell the world about every minute detail of your crap-tastic childhood and advertise every little thing you hate, doesn't mean I want to do the same. At least when I go '_hey everybody- look at me!_', it's not because I'm trying to tell them I want to kill myself or the random guy in the corner that just happened to piss me off when I was five."

"So you pretend to be Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky because you don't want people to know who you really are?"

"Why do you _insist_ on letting this _drag_?" Frustration was evident in his voice, and blood was rising in his pale, freckled cheeks. "I don't even know what your stance is. One minute, you tell me to feel bad, then you tell me I'm a coward- then you tell me you want to help- then you tell me I'm a hypocrite- make up your _goddamn mind!_"

Dick sighed, and it was laced with emptiness and disillusionment. The silvered trees shivered slightly in the summer night breeze.

"You've changed so much. I knew it, the moment I saw you. Not that I knew whether the change was good or bad, but I knew you had changed."

"Yeah, and, unfortunately, you haven't. You're still as critical and bitter and confusing as you were the day I met you." Wally spat, and his words were challenging and irate. "You know what's the difference between us? I know I'm human. I know I'm flawed and screwed up and that I have issues, like most people do. I'm trying to figure it out, okay? I'm trying to figure myself out, and maybe it'll all turn out fine, because that's how its always gone for me." Wally exhaled slowly and bitterly, and the wind frolicked with his light auburn hair. "But _you_- you don't_ even have powers_ and you judge everything like you're some sacred, untouchable _being- _as if your word is_ sacrosanct_. When did you get the authority to pass judgment on the way I think and feel? Or did you just get up one morning and decide that you hated everyone enough to earn that right?"

Dick sank into a pool of stillness in the silence that ensued and his eyes were stoic and unreadable. Wally exhaled and stepped back, silently cursing his mouth, and afraid to make eye contact for fear he would be sucked in.

Dick gradually opened his mouth.

"Have you always thought that about me? That I'm critical and bitter?"

Wally remained mute. He loosened his curled fists.

"I guess we needed to hear that from each other, then."

"Yeah."

The quietude enveloped them both, and water began to splash around the edges of the pond.

Rather suddenly, Dick smiled and stretched out a forgivingly open hand. Wally observed with apprehension. He had never been one to house a grudge, and though many a time he had fallen pray to the odium of the moment, vindication came to him in forgiveness and the decision to forget. He reached out for it and Dick pulled him forward. They clasped each other firmly- but it was not as brief and masculine as it had been the same morning, for now, they were truly brothers.

**22222222222222222222222222222222222**

"So, is it just me, or do most of our finances go to food supplies for the speedsters?" Dinah smirked as she scrolled down the spreadsheet. Ralph stretched his neck around her shoulder to have a look. He had recovered within two days of the electrocution, but had been transferred from Central City Central Hospital to the Watch Tower's medical ward for a more specific analysis of the damage he had incurred. He was currently attired in light green spotted pyjamas and fuzzy blue slippers. The burns were still visible beneath the transparent gauze that enwrapped his arms.

As Dinah had indicated, the third cell of the first column on the spreadsheet was highlighted in red. Two thousand and eight seven dollars for 'nutritional consumption'. Next to the cell, the name of the spender was also highlighted, this time, in blue.

_Wallace West._

Ralph whistled.

"Depression and high metabolisms- baaaad combo. That must have been a hell of a lot of ice-cream." He scrolled up in search of his own rank, which was two spots higher, categorized as a medical expense. Dinah sniggered.

"I heard that he ran a Baskin Robbins in Bahrain out of business for two days."

One of the doors to the lounge buzzed open, and Kara waltzed into the room in a blue tank top and grey sweats, Clark by her side.

"Hey, guys!" she chirped.

Dinah rolled her eyes, not attempting to disguise her derision.

"Yeah, you've been one of them of late. Half the rations of chocolate chip muffins are gone. Not to mention all the hash browns. It's almost as if _you're eating for two_." Kara cast her a look of pure loathing and proceeded to float out of the room. Clark raised a questioning eyebrow. Dinah burst into malicious laughter. "Serves her for being a _slut_." She swiveled in her chair and turned to look at Clark, clearly bemused by Dinah's spiteful language. "Oh, don't tell me _you didn't know_."

Ralph attempted to look uncomfortable.

"She was in the girls' washroom throwing up all morning," he sniffed. Clark knitted his brows in concern.

"I hope she's okay. We've scheduled a mission for her this morning."

Dinah cackled with glee.

"No more missions for _that _cutie-pie. Someone's _majorly_ prego!"

"What?"

Clark was evidently startled by this information.

"When did you find out?"

"Sorry to break it to you, but everyone's known for a while."

Clark was now significantly alarmed.

"Did she tell you?"

"No, but it's really obvious- the vomiting, the eating, the enlarging of the boobs…"

"I… really didn't notice."

Dinah toyed with her hair.

"Of course you wouldn't, darling."

"And does she know who the father is?"

Ralph shook his head.

"We don't know for sure, but we've narrowed it down to Nate, Don, Mike or Wally."

Traumatism drew lines on the man's face, and he started towards the exit.

"Have fun, sugar!" Dinah screamed after him as he disappeared down the hall. She turned to face Ralph. "Whoever it is is awaiting one serious thrashing." She tossed back a lock of blonde hair. "Who's your bet? Mine's Wally."

Ralph nodded.

"Yeah, Wally. We'll know for sure if it's born with red hair."

"What about Wally?" Diana had materialized out of nowhere and was standing behind Ralph. Ralph, significantly startled, stretched his neck backwards in an awkward loop, in order to determine who was behind him.

"Oh, hey, Diana. We were just betting on who's the father of Kara's kid."

Diana appeared mildly stunned.

"You think it's Wally's?"

The two nodded simultaneously.

"Oh."

Diana swept some of her raven locks behind her right ear, suddenly looking very flushed. "If you'll excuse me, I have something important to attend to."

With that, she disappeared down the direction it was presumed that she had come.


	7. Chapter 7: Strain

Yeah, I realize that the Dick-Wally-brother scene last chapter was a bit mushy, but it's just supposed to reflect on how much they have grown and how they still do care for each other.

And I realize that Dinah's being particularly malicious seems kind of random, but you'll see why she has begun to dislike her.

Oh, and, by the way, I actually am a huge fan of Kara. Just so you guys know. 

In terms of this being a WWFL fic, well, BMWW still takes priority at the moment (as always), but we'll see how it progresses.

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Chapter 7: Strain 

Kara stretched out on the stiff mattress of her quarters, tears streaming down her smooth, pale cheeks. The CD player on the small wooden table by the mechanical door was on full volume, and, though the walls were soundproof, she liked to think that it drowned out the voices of the others in the corridor.

Gossip. They loved to gossip. Being superheroes didn't make them any different, and their malignant tongues wagged in their hushed voices behind turned backs and closed doors. The song suddenly grew louder, and one of the singers began to scream while the other sang raucously about love and betrayal in the background.

The light over the door flickered on, indicating that someone wished to enter. Her eyes fluttered open, and in the television screen embedded in the ceiling, she saw a worried, childishly poignant face. She smiled through her tears, and pressed a large black button by her bedside. The doors buzzed apart, and Don sauntered in.

"Hey."

"Hey."

He sat himself down on the edge of the mattress, and pressed his quiet lips to hers, running longing fingers through her silky blonde hair. One of his arms was still bandaged, but due to patent drugs fabricated by Bruce's many biotech and medical research companies, the healing process had been accelerated, and he was very close to being completely healed. She smiled tragically and moved over to give him more space to sit. He gazed at her with solemn, fathomless eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The words that came to him were hurt and disbelieving, but, though she tried, she couldn't bring herself to look away, and her face was misleadingly steely.

"I didn't know how you'd react."

He withdrew into a meditative state of stillness, gazing at the wall above her head. She reached forward and lay her hand on his, her eyes flicking back and forth across his face as if reading it like a book.

"You don't know how much I care for you." The words were eerily soft and somber. The song on the CD player had faded to an end and a mellower song had commenced. The tenderness in his face had melted away to reveal something tense and fierce. " I want to take care of you, Kara, but you just won't let me."

"What if it's not yours? Will you still care?" Bitterness had begun to seep into her discordantly questioning voice, and it was hard and scraping in contrast with the serenity and candor of his earlier words. Discomfort encroached his chiseled features but, while it appeared that he was beginning to gather his thoughts in consideration of what she had just said, he shook his head and placed a gentle hand on her tight, toned stomach.

"Of course I will- how could you say that? As long as you are you, I will care." His hand slid its way below her shirt and up to her chest; he could feel her heart throbbing beneath her flesh. She drew in a sharp breath as he pulled her towards him, his arms wrapped firmly around her surprisingly submissive body as their lips met once more in a gentle, hungry kiss. As their mouths parted, slowly and unwillingly, he pushed back a stray lock of hair from her face and smiled. Kara smiled back.

"You do realize that, once its born, I'm going to make you do the babysitting, right?"

"If that's what you want."

Kara's grin widened.

**22222222222222222222222222222222**

Diana's expression was morose as she entered the Womb, a stack of folders tucked tightly beneath her right arm. Bruce, as always, was hunched over the central keyboard, tapping away to the rhythm of the various beeps and ticks emanating from one of the CPUs. J'onn, munching complacently on a plate of Oreos, nodded acknowledgement.

J'onn making his decision to exit, placed the plate aside and phased noiselessly through the floor. Diana smacked the pile of folders onto one of the numerous metal counters staring defeatedly at Bruce's draped shoulders. She knew that he sensed her presence, but was deliberately ignoring her for one reason or another; his mood had never been easy to fathom.

She sighed.

"Bruce, I want to tell you something."

Bruce continued to type.

"I'd rather not be subjected to confidences dealing with your infatuation with Wally." His voice was characteristically guttural. Diana grimaced, but only Bruce's shoulder blades observed her stony glare.

"It's important, possibly linked to the attack on Keystone."

He paused and swiveled in his chair, his mouth a stolid line.

"Fine. I'm listening."

"You told me to go over the mission statuses and print you out an updated report. You told me this about an hour ago."

"I remember."

"Did you get a chance to look at them?"

"No." As always, his reply was terse; his love of mono-syllabicity was apparent.

Diana inhaled bracingly.

"I realized on my way out that something was amiss, so I went back to go over the missions." She flipped quickly through the tall stacks of papers and, about two thirds the way down, pulled out sheet with a Post-it stuck to and folded over the edge. Bruce regarded her in mild interest. "July fourteenth, 3:14 p.m. was when we got the alert for the attack on Keystone." She indicated the time slot and the attack heading beside it. "Now, look at the one below it. According this, we got a high priority alert at exactly 3:16 p.m. the very same day, but the slot beside it is blank."

"The Mission Status summary usually hides blank slots." His voice was irritatingly informative, and its nonchalance was icy. Diana persisted, ignoring Bruce's superciliousness.

"Yes, but it indicates if there was an alert there at some point in time. When I looked at it again, my guess was that someone had changed the priority, so I checked the medium priorities. Again, there was a blank slot at the exact time that the previous one had been."

"So you checked the lowest priority."

"Right. But it still wasn't there. And I checked the archives. Again, not there." She separated the lower half from the rest of the pile and indicated a roughly highlighted area on the third page. Tiny font, smudged in neon, glared reprovingly at the both of them. "Only alerts that have been made low-priorities can be deleted, so I pulled up all the deleted files. These are the only two low-priority items that match the time that this blank alert was received. I've printed out all the details." She flipped through the separated stack and handed them to Bruce in an indiscriminant mixture of morgue and compliance. Bruce accepted them dispassionately, and Diana continued to explain. "A new weapons prototype was moved to an unknown location from Galvatech Labs, five hours north of Central City, along with a whole bunch of their documents,. Normally this would be considered a robbery but-"

"Galvatech Labs burned down that same day of the attack. An electrical fire spread to their chemical storage unit, and the whole place blew up. Fifty-two dead, three injured. Big Loss. Funnily enough, they are a competitor of Spartan." His apathy dissipated and his pleasure at the news was revealed in the small, smug curve of his mouth.

"Spartan?"

"We finally found chip in the robot's armour that we linked to Spartan Tech Labs. They are a relatively new tech company, specializing in robotics and artificial intelligence. Very recently they started manufacturing weapons parts, combining conventional arms and weaponry with artificial intelligence. This was shortly after they went private. They're also based not far from Central, and have a secondary weapons research facility west of Keystone… and, to my knowledge, also own an AI lab in Keystone itself."

"The chip that was found in the robot was from Spartan?" Diana tapped her chin pensively. "I don't know if a company like that would go to all that trouble, even if it is relatively new."

"Sometimes it doesn't matter what the company wants. Sometimes, it's all about the investors."

"So you think that they're behind the attacks and the robbery?"

"Not yet, though they may be involved in them. There definitely seems to be more to this mere competition. But we still can't rule out that the robot's chip was acquired somehow without their knowledge, or that the Galvatech explosion was a genuine accident."

"Hm."

Diana was mute, her jaw working in silent assessment of the evidence. Bruce shoved the stacks of paper to one side of the table and frowned darkly.

"But now we need to address the issue of who might have been able to access and modify the data."

Diana nodded concordance.

"Your thoughts- _Mistake_ or _Insider_?"

"Definitely an insider," Bruce muttered grimly. "We should meet and discuss the situation. We _cannot_ afford to have double agents in the League. Whatever it takes, we _need_ to find him or her, and _soon_."

"You don't think J'onn could weed him out?"

"Like I said- whatever it takes."

"Hm."

Bruce swiveled to face the flickering computer screen, and Diana's face softened in a redolent instant of thought

"Bruce?"

"Yes, Diana?"

Diana exhaled mutely, finally opening her mouth to speak. But the words were stuck in her throat, jammed in her brain, and her realization left her voiceless in the wake of his presence.

"Diana?" His voice had dropped in key and was slightly less grating that before, but it did not change the silent, fervent tenseness between them, and Diana could only touch her cheek and turn to the exit.

"Nothing. I… forgot what I was going to say."

Bruce turned to face her, but she was gone.

**3333333333333333333333333333333333**

"When did _you_ get back?"

Vic , as usual _sans visage_, nodded as he seated himself by Dinah and Ralph, were now settled comfortably in the lounge, sipping tall glasses of fruit-crystal flavoured water.

"Half an hour ago. I was doing some snooping for Bruce at Central."

"Central?"

"We have a lead on the Keystone dilemma."

"Ah."

Dinah fluttered her lashes disinterestedly, though Vic didn't appear to notice. Ralph remained silent in his acquiescent slouch.

Dinah abruptly leaned forward smacked her empty glass against the metal tabletop.

"So have you heard about-"

"Kara? Yes, I have. In fact, I've heard too much." Vic killed Dinah's enthusiasm in the subject before she had had the chance to commence.

Dinah sulked peevishly.

"Well, it was bound to happen _sooner_ or _later_, didn't you think? I mean, with her sleeping around so much such a young age-"

"And you mean to say you didn't?" The question was direct, and Vic's lack of features was not able to conceal the faint amusement and disdain that tinged quiet voice. He placed his hat on the table beside Dinah's glass and scratched the back of his ear distractedly. "Though I do agree that the administration, as do half the people here, pretend that there is no such thing as sex drive. Being a superhero doesn't mean that you can't get lonely." The words seemed comically bizarre in contrast to Vic's serious, brooding nature. Dinah leered in response.

"So what do you suggest- _superhero condoms_ and _birth-control_?"

Discomfort was clear on Ralph's quizzical face, and began to fiddle with one of the blue buttons on his shirt.

"And why not? It's not a bad suggestion. I mean, I think it would stop things like this from happening. I may not appear to have a face, but it doesn't mean I lack a penis. And who knows? You and Oliver might like to have them at your convenient disposal sometime." Ralph nodded mutely as Dinah began to giggle. "But back on the subject of Kara- I really don't feel that it's any of our business to judge or know."

"Wow, Vic- coming from you that sounds really weird."

"Is it?"

A brief, cumbersome silence ensued, followed by a shrill string of French curse words and an unharmonious clattering of cutlery that emanated from the cafeteria. Dinah crossed her long, stockinged legs and tilted back against the sofa.

"Well, if you think about it-"

"Why do you care so much, just out of curiosity?" Irritation was developing in Vic's subtle voice.

"Because, as of now, I have nothing better to do."

"Ah, I see, so you are wasting your time by mocking Kara?"

"I'm not mocking her."

Vic appeared unconvinced.

"Think about it. She is a young, rash, headstrong girl, barely out of teens, who just found out she is going to be a mother. I'm not young or female, but I doubt that, even if I was, that I would have been overjoyed to find out something like that. She is probably very scared right now. Even if we don't feel like showing support, the least we can do is keep our mouths shut."

Venom began to seep from Dinah's slitted eyes and Ralph, at the zenith of his discomfort, was beginning to edge away.

"You know very well that she started it." Her expression was vacillating between defensive and threatening. Vic remained unmoved.

"It doesn't matter what she started. The point is that you are a full grown woman and she isn't, and you are using her bad circumstances as on opportunity to be vindictive."

She was suddenly standing, arousingly poised and elegant, but the wrath and viciousness that skewed her usually striking face was unmistakable.

"I _know what this is_. You're all _supporting her_ because _you're scared _of_ Clark_."

"If you really think so, sure."

Vic yawned deliberately and tugged at the fringe of his glove, leaving Dinah grunting in aggravation.

"I can't believe that the League houses such-"

"Dinah, you're blowing this way out of proportion-" Ralph's passive attempt to intervene bought him a look of pure derision.

Finally, Dinah resigned to her opposition, turning away towards the exit.

"You know what? I'm out of here."

Beneath his mask, Vic seemed to smile.

"Have fun PMS-ing." Dinah glared astringently. Vic waved a hint. "_Bye, Dinah._"

"Vic, I'm shocked that you'd use such language. It's unlike you."

Clark's serene voice floated into the room as Dinah made her hasty exit.

"Obviously you haven't heard the language _she_'s been using about your cousin. But I'll leave it at that." Vic glanced hesitantly at his watch. "Excuse me, gentlemen- I seem to have an appointment."

"With Helena?"

"No, with Bruce." Vic tone had suddenly become very cold. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

He rose huffily and headed down the corridor that Clark had arrived.

Clark shook his head, his expression mute and jaded. Ralph pursed his lips, and they stared at each other for a long while before nodding agreement and parting in their respective directions.

**4444444444444444444444444444444**

"Okay, I know it's been a while and that this seems a little weird, but I dunno, it's just kind of hard to talk to people right now, not that anyone's awake or anything, but I dunno, I don't know where to start, so I guess I'll start at wherever it feels comfortable. It's just that… uh… like I've never really felt this way before, you know? Like, sometimes, you get a new feeling, and you know what it is by the way other people describe it, but you feel really weird because it's so new, and you don't know how to react? Yeah, I dunno, I've never really felt like this. It's sort of like… uselessness? Like just an overwhelming uselessness. I know I'm _not_ useless, because, if I was, I wouldn't be who I am right now. But it's just so… _everywhere_. And, like, everything around me just reminds me of it. It's sort of like the pessimist-optimist thing? One sees the glass half empty, while the other sees it half full? Not that I'm a pessimist, but, like, everywhere I go, everything I do, for some reason, I can only think of … uh… the things I _haven't_ done, or, like, the things I _couldn't_ do. Or the things I _wasn't_ able to do, and the people I wasn't able to protect. People… uh… I wasn't able to protect myself _against_. And it just keeps moving, around and around and around in my head, sort of like those washer-dryers you see at Laundromats, and, like, no matter what I try, I can't stop thinking about it. And then I start wandering off and, like, I start asking myself all these _stupid_ questions, you know? Like, not the stupid ones that are just _stupid_, but the stupid ones that are just really… _scary_, you know what I'm saying? Well, I guess there are just the weird ones- like, uh… what does darkness taste like? Or what if the world doesn't exist? And then, then, there are the ones that just… like… I don't know how to explain. Like, is what I'm doing worth it? Is it worth anything? Does anyone care? Well, yeah, I guess some of them care because otherwise they'd be dead, but still, you know, they're going to die anyway, right? I mean, we've all got to die someday… but, like, what if a huge, flaming comet suddenly launches itself towards Earth? Will we be able to stop it? What if it's too big? I mean, what if it's happening right now? What if it's the design of the universe, somehow? Or what if, like, I'm dying of cancer, right now, and I don't know it? Or what if… what if, one day, I run so fast that, like, my heart just stops beating? Like, it just _stops_? What if _that_ is the design of the universe? Will I die, and leave all the people I care for unprotected? Will I die without making up for all the things I couldn't do, or all the things I wish I hadn't done? Will I die without ever figuring out the answers to all my stupid questions? And, what if you exist- though I suppose you do because, if you don't, then who's listening to this?- and I'm, like, totally screwed or am stuck in purgatory for the rest of eternity? And will people care? 'Cuz no one ever takes me seriously, and they're always telling me to shut up, because I have a really big mouth…. You know, will people pray for me when I die? Or, like, if I don't die, and I go into some sort of coma, who will be there at the hospital, waiting for me? Who will be there waiting for me when I wake up? Who will be there to answer all my stupid questions? Who will be there to tell me how _stupid I am_? Do you see where I'm coming from? Because, I guess that's all I need- someone to tell me that I'm just so goddamn _stupid_, just someone to tell me not to worry, and that everything will be okay, you know? That's all I need to hear, that I'm stupid, and that that's all this is- stupidity. Well, I guess that's about it, God. Sorry to bug ya. I think I might be disturbing Dicky- he's in the next room, and the walls are paper thin- plus he's an atheist, but don't take it out on him, he's a really cool guy. Anyway, I'm done. Um… Wally West, _signing out_."

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(Phew).

That took me a while to write. I'm iffy about the chapter ending. I just wanted to get across Wally's confusion etc., and I thought I'd try something different (I was kind of inspired by a song- you get a cameo appearance in the next chapter if you can guess what it is. :)).

Well, I hope you guys enjoyed it, and that you can begin to see where we're going with this.


	8. Chapter 8: 'Speed'

Chapter 8: 'Speed'

Wally stretched languorously and waltzed into the living room to find Dick doing one-handed-pushups with his feet on the couch, clearly entranced by the pixilated images of the morning news.

Wally grinned mischievously and, shuffling over, took a seat on Dick's sweaty back, deciding that, even if he lacked in upper-body strength, he might as well test that of others. To his dismay, he discovered that Dick, not even minutely aware of Wally's presence, or at least appearing so, was able to continue with this mechanical exercise despite that fact there was a hundred-and-seventy-two pound man sitting on him.

Wally tugged at Dick's ponytail.

"Good morning?"

Dick stretched out for the remote and flipped the channel with his free arm.

"You were asleep, so I bought breakfast. It's on the table. Please get off my back."

Wally zipped over and inspected 'breakfast'. He looked up in bemusement.

"You bought pizza for breakfast?"

"Why, do you object?"

"No… but it's kinda unhealthy for breakfast, don't you think?"

"Well, it's mostly for you. I checked the cupboards and the fridge- you're seriously lacking in food supplies. Plus, you sort of look like you need to be fed, though I don't know if that's necessarily true."

Dick somersaulted onto his feet and flipped back to the news. Wally had already begun to dig in.

"Mmmmm… greaaaassse." He paused while picking out his eighth slice. "Oh- you didn't buy this with your own money, did you?"

"No."

"Okay."

Dick sat back on the couch, brows knitted in thought.

"The people here don't seem to panic very much do they? I mean, less than a week ago, half this place with literally crushed, and now they seem more concerned with what style of pants are '_in_'."

Wally nodded and proceeded to chug Cherry straight out of the bottle. Wiping his chin with the back of his hand, he attempted to respond through the soggy pizza crust that was still in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed noisily.

"Yeaaaaaaaaah, they're kind of indifferent about the place- I mean, it's a good city and all, nothing like Hub or Gotham, _no offense_, but, I dunno-" He folded over a slice and stuffed into his mouth. Dick raised an eyebrow and flicked the channel to find Superman's calm face soothing a crowd of irate New Mexicans. Wally leaned forward.

"Man, that happened, like, a month ago. I mean, there were totally _no_ casualties. I can't believe some of them are _still_ mad at us."

"You're just bitter than you were one of the 'big' names held responsible for it." Dick smirked and flicked back. "So, have any bets on when they're _actually_ going to dismantle the Watchtower?"

Wally paused.

"It takes time, I guess. We need to find a good location for the Earth embassy and all. Plus a whole bunch of shit happened after the incident with Luthor-Brainiac, related and unrelated. Keystone, for example."

"Excuses, excuses."

"Hey, I'm glad it's still up and working, though I do agree that having a massively huge space-based laser-cannon wasn't the best way to solve conflicts, and that we had no business possessing it in the first place. But I like it up there. I'm going to miss it-"

Wally fell silent. The incident with Brainiac was still fresh in his mind. But more so that the actual conflict, he remembered the feeling of euphoria and overwhelming freedom that had come with the achievement of the Speed Force, something he would never feel again. There was always a twinge of loss, every time he thought about it. He had the chance to become a part of something greater, something more beautiful and serene. He had given it up for the sake of feeling, for human emotion, something that didn't seem all that appealing to him anymore. But more than the actual achievement of it, there was something in his mind that refused to believe that, though he could run at the speed of light, yet when it came down to it all-

Dick flicked the channel again.

Suddenly distracted, his sight followed a ladybird that had made its way past the lacerated gauze of the open balcony window. Like a hunter watching its prey, he waited for it to settle on the table, contemplating the skill and dexterity with which he would execute the kill.

In a sudden blur of movement, Wally's hand hit the table. The crunch that ensued was accompanied by a scream of utter pain.

"_Fuck! _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-" Wally wrung his hand in front of him, his face comically distorted in pure, stabbing agony. His hand, swollen, bandaged and stiff, was beginning to bleed through the yellow gauze.

Dick sighed.

"You're hopeless."

"Go _fuck_ _yourself_." Wally gritted his teeth, his eyes tearing up as he examined his wounded hand. His pallid arms were saturated with bruises, but they had grown darker and more defined over the short period of time he taken to rest, becoming vaguely shaped blotches of deep burgundy-violet against his skin.

Dick shook his head.

"Wally, Wally, Wally." He rose to retrieve his share of the pizza before it totally disappeared. "At least you're _normal_ compared to last night."

Wally bit his lip and proceeded to tear away the bandages enwrapping his hand. His palm was significantly swollen and tender around the wound, which was glittering a lovely dark crimson in the morning light. He exhaled, and his breath was uneven as it left his lips.

"Yeah… I was in a really weird place last night, mentally and all- but I'm okay now, except that _this _hurts like a _bitch_!"

Dick nodded. He now knew better than to ask.

**22222222222222222222222222**

It took Wally all of two minutes to find some decent clothes, shower and towel-dry his hair, but suddenly, everything felt implausibly slow.

In scrutiny of the various oddly shaped bruises on his arms, he realized that, in some cases, the patterns spread out uncannily in the shape of large hands. He also noted a large, viciously deep scar on the back of his calf, though he realized, upon further thought, that this one had been acquired more than a week ago.

Another thing that he noticed about himself in the solitude of his shower was that he was getting incredibly freckly- not that he usually took to examining his body in the shower, but it was rather hard to miss when one's arms, legs, and other areas of usually exposed skin were dotted with the hateful things while one's belly was about as white as that of a beluga.

He stepped out of the shower and reached for the towel, counting the seconds on the large digital clock that hung over the mirror. Wiping himself down, he attempted to rewrap the swelling wound in his left hand; he was now almost certain he was the victim of some kind of infection.

Tossing the towel irreverently into the sink, he stepped onto the scale. He didn't usually feel the need to weigh himself though he was fully aware of how underweight he actually was. Yet there was something indeterminably humiliating about standing stark naked on a mechanical device that told you that you were nearly twenty-five pounds lighter than you usually were.

He raised an eyebrow.

There were definitely ups and downs to having an overactive metabolism, yet dropping from a hundred-and-seventy-two pounds to a hundred-and-forty-eight within a span of two weeks was teetering on _dangerous_. It was no surprise why Dick had been able to bear his weight so easily. Usually, Wally would have taken the drop in weight as sign that his metabolism was increasing due to an improvement in his overall speed, but somehow he was skeptical that he could attribute this to anything of the like.

He exited the bathroom, slightly distraught by this new knowledge.

Dick was still in the living room, though now fully attired. He had showered before Wally did, though, unlike his redheaded friend, he possessed the mysterious ability to leave the bathroom almost spotlessly clean.

"Dicky?" Wally inquired timidly. "How much do you weigh?"

"One-eighty," Dick grunted.

"Ah."

Wally shuffled over to where Dick was slouched, slightly offended that he hadn't bothered to ask him the same, or at least ask as to why the question had been posed. It took him a few moments to realize that Dick had been mesmerized by the silent flickering of a laptop screen. Wally grimaced.

Needless to say, Wally had never been a big fan of anything that was comprised of wires and microchips unless, of course, it happened to have anything in common with Saturday morning cartoons or softcore porn. Aside from almost being considered 'technologically-illiterate', he had never really gotten into the whole messaging-slash-world-wide-web thing either; surprisingly enough, he preferred communicating and acquiring music the old fashioned way.

"How did _that_ get here?" He pointed at the laptop accusingly.

"Oh, I made a few calls last night before getting to bed. I had a buddy drop off some of my stuff. You were sleeping then." He indicated an open suitcase lying on the floor. "It's mostly because I prefer sleeping in my own clothes and not yours- no offense."

"None taken."

Dick sipped on a mutilated bottle of water, and Aunt Iris' clock ticked jeeringly. Wally fidgeted in suspense.

"Dicky?"

"Hm?"

"Whatcha doiiiiiiiiiiin'?"

"I'm… looking for…discrepancies in this document…." Dick trailed off, muttering to cryptically to himself in a guttural fashion that was more befitting of Bruce. Wally sighed and decided that he was better off clearing up the kitchen. As he rose, Dick cocked his head and looked at him in a way that signified there was something important to be communicated.

"What?"

"A woman called while you were in the shower."

"Oh?"

"Yeah- she said something about being sorry and became all gushy, and then told me to ask you if you were still attending the funeral," Dick rubbed his forehead unconcernedly. The colour in Wally's face slowly began to seep away, leaving him almost camouflaged against the living room wall. " Did someone die or something?"

"Uh… yeah… but I don't really wanna go… for the funeral, I mean."

"That's not very nice. Did you know him well?"

"Them. Uh… two people died."

"Oh. Well, at least call her back and tell her. She said you had her number."

Wally stared at the phone, remembering his previous attempt at calling her. But the sheer, unadulterated fear that had accompanied the thought was not there this time. In fact, he felt completely stoic, almost scarily so.

He remembered how the realization had struck him, almost bowling him over, as he had seen the blood seep out from beneath its gleaming body. He remembered how, at the Watchtower, he had locked himself in his quarters after the debriefing and just screamed as loud as he could, crying and praying, and somewhat glad that the walls were soundproof. Yet, the tears had been both real and false as they had slid down his sharp, angular nose. He hadn't grieved because he was sorry. He had grieved because he was frightened- frightened that he had felt nothing, and frightened that he had forgotten how much, before that day, he had wanted them to die.

But again, between then and last night, he had felt nothing and, now, he was beginning to despise himself.

"Wall?"

"Yeah… I'll do it later."

"Okay." Dick paused. "You're okay, right? You didn't tell me two people you knew died. I mean-"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Wally waved off Dick's concern. "Look, I gotta go get some groceries and stuff. I'll be back in a few, 'kay?"

Dick nodded complacently. Wally zipped over to the television and scanned for his wallet among the various curiosities that took pride on its top. Dick looked up once more.

"Wait, before you go- could I ask you some stuff?"

"Sure." Wally grabbed his wallet from behind headless plastic model of what seemed to be the Statue of Liberty.

Dick set his laptop aside.

"How fast are you?"

Wally paused in bewilderment.

"Huh?"

"How _fast_ are you?"

"Uh…" Wally tapped his chin contemplatively. "The fastest I've gone without killing myself was … a little more than a hundred million metres per second, I guess? Speed of light-ish. I ended up kind of… disappearing for a bit. But I can break a eight hundred or so without _really_ hurting anybody or yours truly."

"Eight hundred?"

"Thousand." Wally added smugly. "Not that I usually need to go that fast." _Though sometimes he really wanted to_, he thought to himself.

Dick whistled, impressed.

"I can't even imagine someone running that fast. Can people even see you, going that fast?"

"Not… really. Though I probably could… if I wasn't me."

Dick nodded his head meditatively. Wally shoved his wallet into the back pocket of beige shorts and sighed.

"Do you think-"

"Look, Dicky, there is no way in _hell_ I am violating my orders."

"I didn't ask anything yet."

"But you were going to. Don't even try to deny it."

"God, you are such a _wuss_. Okay, whatever. Forget anything I said. Go."

"I am _not_ a _wuss_!" Wally pouted defiantly.

"Sure."

"No, I'm not!"

"Prove it."

Wally smirked.

"The sad thing is I know _exactly_ what you're doing. Okay_, fine. _I'll_ listen. _But that's_ all _I'm willing to do"

Dick grinned.

"Wow, that wasn't hard at all. Come here." He smacked the seat next to him in invitation. Wally obliged.

Dick placed the laptop securely on his folded legs and pulled up a window of what seemed to be a sort of three-dimensional blueprint of an incredibly large, complex building. Using the keypad, he swiveled around it and zoomed into a specific section of the frame.

"This is Spartan Labs. Spartan is a relatively new, low-key engineering-slash-tech firm based in Central, but it has a more secondary base outside Keystone." He paused and pulled up another window. " These are photos taken outside central two weeks ago. Look familiar?"

Wally squinted. A small, crumpled, gleaming creature lay sprawled in the dust, wires and liquid spread like guts around it in its dying pool. It looked eerily familiar. Wally wracked his brains.

"It's… a Metalface Mini-Me?"

"Pretty much."

"Uh… okay? So, they made Metalface?"

"We weren't certain before- at least I wasn't. But I found a little something that convinced me otherwise. I actually have one of your buddies to thank for that."

"Uh…."

"The Question? He says he's a good friend of yours."

"Vic, yeah- we do lunch occasionally."

"Anyway, they do a lot of AI stuff, a lot of robotics and user-interfaces. Recently they started making something they like to call Smart-Weapons. You heard of the Galvatech explosion, right?"

"Think so."

"Galvatech and Spartan were working on a couple of these Smart-Weapons before the accident. Weird considering that they were competitors before Spartan went into weapons research. Right before the explosion, one of the two went missing. The other showed up at Keystone-"

"-And tried to pound us all into human-flavoured jams. Right, I am totally _not_ liking the sound of this."

"It gets better. Your buddies at Cadmus have been giving sending them money off the books."

Wally's face was uncharacteristically grim.

"This is definitely not good."

"Which is why we need to find out what's going on."

"Uh, no."

"Why not?"

"Because we need to alert the League."

"And will they _listen_ to you, or will they think you are trying to be immature and defy your leave?"

"They know I wouldn't do that."

Wally grimaced in reminiscence. Silently, he knew that Dick was right.

"Face it. Regardless of what they tell you to do, you know you want to do this. You're restless. I feel it."

Wally pouted sullenly and scratched the back of his head.

"Okay… what do you want me to do?"

"You are going to get past the security cameras and disable the security system. Once that's done, you'll give the signal-"

"Woah there, horsey- we're _breaking in_?"

"Yes."

"You're _joking_, right? Look, I'm sorry, but I wasn't raised or taught to break in to private property unless I know _for sure_ that there is a legitimate reason for doing so. And even then, it's sort of like delusional suicide. We don't have _back-up_, or a _backup plan_."

"It shouldn't be that hard. We're only going to steal some files and take a small look around. We're not taking them down or anything- it's very covert. Besides, they're not going to have any weapons that close to a major city."

Wally's face suddenly contorted. He pursed his lips, and his eyes became serious and focused.

"You know I am not going to do anything that will make the League look bad. Plus, even if I did do this, I don't have a suit or a mask or anything, and there is _no way_ I'm gonna waltz in there as the Flash."

"And I'm just so glad you mentioned that, because I have the perfect plan."

"For _what_?"

"For your suit."

Wally gave Dick a somewhat constipated look of disbelief.

"You _planned _all of this?"

"Actually, Barbara and I came up with it together."

"You _bastard_."

Dick smirked.

"You're going to be using one of my suits."

"Uh… that would work perfectly, except for the fact that we _aren't_ the _same size_?"

"It's spandex. It'll fit. The front is blank, so I can paint on any logo you want. I even bought some textile paint. That way, you won't be associated with Flash except for your speed."

"Okay, that's all fine and dandy, but how much friction can it take? Because I don't want to half naked or, like, burning or something two seconds after I start running."

"Problem solved."

Dick reached over to the open suitcase and handed him a folded piece of clothing. Wally unraveled it. It was sleek and black with grey bands around the wrists and neck.

"It… doesn't have a head covering?" Wally's eyes were slightly wide.

Aside from the obvious need to be streamlined, he had never ever really considered wearing a suit the did not cover his head, though this like of having his head covered had probably stemmed from the extreme dislike he bore for the colour of his hair.

"No. I don't like those. You're getting a mask like mine."

"But what if my hair gets in my face?"

"I think it's a bit too short for that, Wall."

"But… what if people get distracted by my hair and, then, they start hunting down all the red-headed people in Keystone? Or, in America? Or… in the _world_?" Wally's eyes grew wider, and suddenly, a tiny Vic with demon horns popped up at the back of his head. Dick raised a contemptuous eyebrow.

"You complain too much, you know that?"

"No _I don't_. And I can't help it if I have noticeable hair."

"Take the arm of the suit and rub it between your hands as fast as you can."

Wally placed it between his palms and began to move them back and forth in a multi-tonal blur. He felt the bullet wound burn beneath the gauze. He stopped and observed the suit's lacquered sheen.

"Wow, this suit's amazing."

"Told you so. Here's your mask."

"Wow, it sticks to your face! So, _that's_ how it stays on!"

"Uh… yeah. So…your logo?"

"Actually, if my memory serves me correctly, I don't think I remember _fully_ agreeing to this yet."

Dick breathed uneasily.

"Look, how about, we call this a favour. You help me this _one_ time, and, no matter what you want me to do after, I will do it. I swear."

Discomfort pulled itself across Wally's freckled face.

"I don't know. If they find out, they _can_ extend my leave. And that's definitely _not_ what I want."

"But they won't. And besides, it's _the Flash_ that has mandatory leave, not _you_."

Wally raised an eyebrow.

"You know that your logic is really messed up, right?" He sighed tentatively. "Fine. It's a favour. And, if they question me, I'll say you forced me to do it."

"Okay. Great. Logo?"

"Uh… I'm really not that creative, so go with whatever comes to you- just as long as it isn't too weird or effeminate in any way. Or Gotham-ish."

Dick grinned, and Wally suddenly realized how screwed he really was.

**333333333333333333333333333**

Clark stared out over the railing, and the Earth spun silently before him in its incandescent blue aura. Vic slid up beside him and followed his line of sight.

"So morbid, yet so beautiful, isn't it?" Clark remained quiet. Vic sniffed. "I don't think it's anyone here."

Clark stirred agitatedly.

"Hm?"

"I don't think anyone in the League is the father. Or could be, for that matter." Clark rubbed his face. "You're not listening to me, are you?"

"I'm tired, Vic."

"So am I. But before I retire to my quarters, I thought I'd ask you the likeliness that Kara's genes are compatible with any of ours." Clark looked up. His facial expression was intangible. "Pretty slim, huh?"

"I didn't think of that before."

"Of course you didn't She's your cousin. You panicked." He paused. "Though the chances of her DNA resembling even yours in any way is highly unlikely."

Clark inhaled deeply, absorbing the new knowledge. He suddenly grew tense.

"Then… how-"

"That's what I was thinking about. I have only one explanation."

Clark's taut features grew grim.

"Cadmus."

"My thoughts exactly."

"But that was so long ago- why would she be showing signs now?"

Vic shrugged insipidly.

"Again. She's an alien. You never grew up on Krypton. I mean, how much do you really know about alien reproductive cycles? But that's all I've come to share."

Vic patted Clark's draped shoulder and ambled down the hallway. Clark turned back to face the Earth, in the silence of the corridor, his pupils grew small, sharp and red.

**4444444444444444444444444444**

"Here you go."

Dick tossed the completed uniform onto Wally's mesmerized face. Wally pulled it off his head and observed. A ninja turtle did a backflip on the unwatched T.V. screen.

"Wow…. What's that?"

"A comet. I couldn't think of any cool names, so you can now be Comet. Or maybe… '_The_ Comet.'"

"_Comet_? Not …a …_chance_. I sound like a fucking reindeer."

"So, can you come up with any better names?"

"Definitely better than _Comet_. I mean, how fast are comets anyway?"

"I'm pretty sure they are faster than you."

"I sincerely doubt and resent that. And it would be nice if you stopped trying to disturb me- I'm trying to think of a _good_ name."

"Okay, I'll help."

"It'd better be better than _Comet_."

"_Okay, already_! What about…."

"I want something cool and original… something striking and reflective of my abilities-" He glanced up at Dick. "But nothing too depressing and Gotham-ish. Something like…" He tapped his chin. "I know! What about '_Speed_'?"

"'_Speed_'? You're kidding, right? Besides, I'm pretty sure that name's already been taken." Dick raised his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed.

"And I'm pretty sure it hasn't. Because you're thinking of _Speedy_. There's a _difference_. Speed. Speed-_y_. Speed. Speed-_y_. Say it with me."

"Okay, whatever. Though you are totally ripping Roy(1) off."

"Hey, hey-_buddy_? I'm helping you, alright? The least you can do is let me have a name _I like._"

Dick smirked, ignoring him and pointing to the suit.

"Well, don't you want to try it on? Mask, boots, gloves…."

"Uh…."

"Come on!"

"Mmmm…fine, but I'm not posing or anything!"

He grimaced and dragged the suit and boots with him to the bathroom, unbuttoning his pants as he got to the door.

He knew he was in for trouble- he just felt it. He could almost just hear Bruce growling at him in impatience and silent fury.

But Dick had been right.

It had been a little less than a week, and he was already beginning to miss speeding around on the streets, patrolling, saving random people he barely knew, leading strike teams and relief efforts. He was also beginning to miss the Watchtower and the League- not that Dick wasn't good company, especially since he hadn't seen him in a while. But it just wasn't the same.

He admitted wholeheartedly to missing the parent-like chidings of John and Shayera; regardless of how much they screamed at him, they always made up for it later by sitting and talking to him, bearing with his wacky anecdotes and bizarre jokes and the like. He was even starting to miss Clark, aside from the fact that, last they saw each other, Clark had punched him squarely in the face.

He missed Kara and Don, too; they used to head-bang to Slipknot and Static-X in the cafeteria together when no one was looking. He missed Ralph and his self-righteous, weird, biographical tales, and Vic and his overly paranoid conspiracy theories. He missed J'onn and his almost completely neutral outlook on life. Though Oliver was down on the surface, he was another person whose presence Wally enjoyed, though he realized that this was purely because of their shared likeness of fun and teasing.

He paused, pulling the up the left leg of the suit.

He really didn't miss Bruce all that much. But, though there had always been some sort of uncertain friction between the two, Wally realized that, ironically enough, without Bruce, he would never have been the Flash.

He gritted his teeth at this disturbing and sudden realization, pulling the suit up his body.

Bruce had always been one of the few people that severely annoyed him, though not necessarily for the way in which he treated him; it was something more indistinct than the pure condescension that laced his voice every time he opened his mouth.

Sometimes, Bruce's condescension and lack of sensitivity upset him, especially when he directed it towards others. He did not care so much about himself, but, then again, he could easily say he was used to it. It was usually the small, caustic comments Bruce made that he knew got to people- the hints of their inferiority and the like. Perhaps he was sociophobic. Maybe even misogynistic, in a weird, super-hero-ish way. He didn't really appreciate the presence of these 'people', bizarrely enough for being a super-hero. Wally figured that people made him angry, so he tried to hint it.

But Diana was a different story.

The one thing he had truly never understood was why Bruce continually turned her down, spurned her, even shunned her. She was strong-willed, intelligent and attractive. She had super-powers, or at least items that gave her the illusion of possessing them, and a nice body. She was loyal and persistent. She loved Bruce, and there was no question in Wally's mind that Bruce loved her back. But somehow, it had just never worked for Bruce.

It had been shortly before the Keystone mission. They had gone over it again- gone over why they could afford to be involved in t relationship and, rejected once more, Diana had stood outside the closed doors of the Womb, leaning in silently against the cold steel wall, head bowed in defeat. Wally had walked by and said 'hi' out of courtesy. She had not responded, and, almost immediately, Wally had known. Sometimes, he had truly believed that she tried too hard for her own good. It was true, she would choose the uncanniest of times to bring this up with Bruce. But he couldn't help but feel sad for her; it was the simplest of wishes, yet it could never be fulfilled.

Soundlessly, he had wrapped his arms around her. She had looked up in surprise. He knew she had expected to see someone else, possibly even hoped to see Bruce, but she had smiled in humourless appreciation at the tragic comprehension in his pale green eyes.

He didn't understand it. He didn't understand why she had chosen Bruce, of all people, the least likely to return her affection. He didn't get it at all. Bruce was smart, yes. Smart and rich. But Diana was too good for him, and he longed to tell her that- she was _just too good_.

He had pressed his lips to her forehead, and could feel her warm, calm breath against his nape.

"_Wally_?" Her voice had been soft and questioning. He had wanted to tell her, to comfort her, for a very long time now. But right then, he hadn't known what to say.

He hadn't been in uniform then. She had hugged him back, and he had felt her power as she clasped her arms around his back. She could have crushed him if she had wanted to. He had looked down at her. _Thank you_, she had smiled.

He stared at the boots Dick had given him, then at the scale on the bathroom floor. Sighing, tempted, he had ambled over and stepped on, a horrid, sinking feeling materializing like a small boulder in the pit of stomach. Spandex didn't weigh very much. He'd have to minus a pound or two. He sucked his breath and looked down. A hundred-and-forty two pounds. Minus one. A-hundred-forty-one. He had lost seven pounds since the morning. He stepped off the scale, slightly disgruntled, and pulled on the boots; eerily enough, even they seemed to fit perfectly.

The second hand on Aunt Iris' old clock moved and Wally emerged into the living room.

Dick wore an amiably critical grin across his tanned face.

"Wow, you look hot. And the comet goes with your hair. Now put your fucking mask on."

Wally rolled his eyes and adhered the mask into place with a blur of his gloved fingers.

"Happy?"

"You did that so fast, it looked like you just slapped yourself. But we don't really care right now because we've got to go."

"Huh? What?"

"You remember the plan. We've got a few stops to make."

Wally suddenly realized that Dick was now fully attired as Nightwing, and had been so since his own emergence into the living room.

"You… changed?"

"You took ten minutes in the bathroom."

"Oh."

Bemused, Wally followed Dick out the door. Aunt Iris' clock struck eleven.

000000000000000000

(1) Roy Harper, a.k.a Speedy/Arsenal, founding member of the Titans and former protégé of Green Arrow. Duh!

Sorry I took so long to update. I realize this is a long chapter. I hope it isn't too tedious to read.

Well, enjoy, I guess. :)


	9. Chapter 9: Other

Sorry I didn't clarify before, for all you guys that got confused. My bad. :(

So, yeah. The Keystone incident with Metalface takes place a month after Divided We Fall. It's been six days since Wally was sent on leave, and a day and a bit since Dick arrived.

Just so you guys know. :)

And, w00t! Roy's here! Time for some action.

BTW: D.C. owns Roy and Donna. I'm too poor to buy any of them. :(

BTW2: Alba is a sweetie for not spazzing on me on the Vic/Wally lunch reference. D

000000000000000000000

Chapter 9: Other

The dialtone sounded.

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby."

There was a sleepy, soft chuckle on the other end.

"Is everything okay, there?"

"Yeah. I just thought I'd call. I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby." Her voice was quiet, sultry and soothing. "I hope you'll be okay there. I mean, isn't it mass chaos?"

"Actually, no. It's unusually calm. Plus, it's the middle of the night. I don't know what it's like during the day yet."

She paused.

"You weren't going to stop by Wall's, were you?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I'd say 'hi' for you, if you want me to."

"But don't you want to? It's been a few years. And I guess it'd make him feel better, to see a friendly face and all. The Media's been sort of harsh on him." She breathed slightly. The man remained silent. "Roy?"

"I… don't know. We didn't exactly have… the sort of relationship we need to be reminded of."

"I always thought you guys were pretty good friends."

"We were."

"Then?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Okay." She paused. "It's not because I used to go out with him, right?"

"No, no. Nothing like that."

"Okay. Just… checking."

Roy smiled and pushed back a loose strand of auburn hair.

"Look, I have to go now. I'll call you back later, okay?"

"Okay."

"Donna?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Bye."

"Bye, sweet."

He hung up and pressed the cordless into its cradle.

A man in sunglasses and a lab coat approached, a slight leer smeared across his unpleasantly dry, taut face. Roy returned the expression, adjusting his goggles. The man handed Roy a short piece of paper, at which he glanced at fleetingly before shoving into his pocket, looking slightly unnerved.

"Who tipped you off?" he growled brusquely.

The man in the lab coat shrugged.

"We got an e-mail from Gotham."

"So, I had to fly in here all the way from Star City in the middle of the night because of some random e-mail you got from Gotham? Everyone knows the freaks that live in that dump."

"Not random. It was valid."

"Says who?"

"Says _your boss_."

Roy clenched his jaw in discomfort. The man chuckled at he ambled towards the exit.

"I hear you guys were buddies-"

"Save it," Roy clipped, checking his quiver.

The man shrugged and left, leaving Roy to reflect in the disconsolate silence.

**2222222222222222222222**

Wally was exhausted, almost the most exhausted he had ever felt in his entire life.

It wasn't a physical tiredness, more so a mental one. It was the same type that accompanied his quiet, morbid thoughts on the verge of a breakdown, something he had surprisingly more often than most people suspected. He found himself chuckling mordantly at the idea of having one, possibly even then and there, earning him a look of something between concern and '_what-the-hell_' from his shrouded, pony-tailed friend.

Wally pursed his lip in an attempt to keep himself from laughing hysterically. Darkness pooled around their feet and they pushed off the roof ledge.

"So…uh… do we really have to do the 'jumping-from-building-to-building' thing?"

"We want to be discreet."

"If you say so."

They paused at the ledge of the last building, looking down upon the vast expanse of flatness below them. The horizon was lurid under the spotted moon.

Dick turned back to look at him, peering through the holes in his mask.

"You look uneasy."

Wally began to laugh.

"Shit, I'm going to get such a pounding. I know it."

"I didn't force you to help me."

Wally opened his mouth to retort, but decided to say nothing.

It was times like this he didn't know where he was going, or what he was doing with himself. Or why he did the things he did. Such as agree to every damn thing he was told.

His breath came out in a long, low whistle.

Life was sometimes such a vague, shapeless blur. Often, he wouldn't know where one day ended and the next began; it was just one long, bewildering, contorting _thing_ that swiveled in his brain and manipulated his senses. Time and again, he would get lost in its flow.

He was scared to think about it too much. The fear asphyxiated him in a way he couldn't describe. It would eat him alive from the inside, and he could feel its fangs burn against his lungs. But sometimes, the fear would just melt away, sort like the feeling that came over him when he achieved the Force. It was as though his flesh had just melted off his bones, melted away and dispersed to the farthest corners of the universe, and his soul was still and content.

"We're going to wait for a while," Dick whispered. Wally shrugged. In his mind, he was still merely tagging along; in any case, he was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to protest. He looked up to see a glittery, dissolving streak across the dotted sky. A sort of warm, gleaming, nostalgic hope filled up inside of him, like a party balloon being blown up in his chest.

"Look, it's a shooting star!"

Wally closed his eyes tightly and whispered under his breath. Dick snorted and began to clap and laugh.

"Oh, get serious! You didn't just _wish on it_, did you?"

"Yeah… why not? I've been doing it since I was a kid."

"You know it's just a flying piece of space debris, right?"

"So?"

"So? It's not going to magically make your wish come true. It's _not_ _alive_. Even if it was, it's not as if it could hear you, all the way out there."

"Stop ruining it for me!" He grimaced belligerently.

"Fine. I'll let you live in your little Wally-Land, filled with candy flowers and sparkly ponies… and conscious pieces of space debris."

"Hey! Don't diss the sparkly ponies!"

Wally pursed his lips and the two were enveloped in a sudden, suffocating silence. Dick squinted through a small, black pair of binoculars. In the distance, the guards exchanged greetings and switched shifts. Wally rubbed his smooth, blotched forehead. For a summer night, it was surprisingly cool. He watched his misty breath puff and curl into night air.

"I don't know how you live like that."

Dick shot him a questioning look.

"Live like what?"

"Without faith. Without hope. You don't… expect anything from anyone or anything."

"And it makes me all the more thankful when good things happen. If you don't expect anything, you're always content."

For a moment, Wally resigned to silence.

"I can't do that," he said at large. Dick sniffed in irritation.

"So… what? Are you saying that you're life is only worth living due to something external? Is it only worth living because of hope and faith?"

"It's just the desire to know that tomorrow will be a better day, that it will be a better world, that there's a better place I'm destined for. I want to see it and be a part of it. I want to make it real."

"You want to know what I think?"

Wally sucked his breath.

"No, I don't. Listening to your ideals makes me suicidal. I'd rather remain in my happy, ignorant place."

Dick chuckled amusedly.

"Funny guy."

Wally bit his lip and attempted to hide his antipathy.

**3333333333333333333333**

Kara clenched her jaw and threw her fist into the suspended leather bag. Her hair was tied back into a short, conservative single braid, and she was wearing the loose grey hoodie Clark had lent her a few weeks ago when the flu had been going around. She jumped gracefully into the air and kicked it to the side. The radio blared metal, and her head pounded so violently that the nausea was beginning to overcome her.

"At your stage, I don't think that's such a wise idea, sugar."

Kara spun in the air. Dinah stood in the entrance to the gym, a wide, sardonic grin dressing her slim, tanned face.

"_Bitch_," Kara muttered under her breath. She turned to the bag once more and began to punch, drilling her fists into it viciously as Dinah began to saunter towards her, tugging unattractively at her fishnets.

"What's the matter, honey? You seem mad."

"I…have better…things to do…with my time…than talk…to you." She kicked the bag violently. It jerked into the air and clanked against the ceiling.

Biting her lip, Dinah watched the bag descend.

"You're not so tough, I see," she sneered.

"_What?_" Kara continued to punch and kick, but the perplexity in her face was apparent.

"You always try to make yourself look cool, like you don't give a crap-"

"_What_ are you _talking about_?"

"Admit it. I'm getting to you." Kara paused in mid air, staring at Dinah slightly bemused. Dinah smirked. "You push me, I push you back."

Kara squinted.

"I didn't _do anything_ to you."

"Don't _play dumb_. You killed my mission. It _was my_ mission." The odium was hot as it seeped from her lips.

"Oh, I get it. I'm being called '_a slut_' for being a _good Leaguer_ and doing my job by _telling authority_ that one of its members is going against protocol and-"

"You know it's not that simple."

"Hey- I may not be _as old as you are_, but I know better than to let my own personal agendas get in the way of the League."

"Oh, I see. So those are the _official_ rules. But I guess '_big cousin_' Clark kind of bends the rules for you, right?"

For a moment, Kara remained speechless. Suddenly regaining her composure, she leaned forward, defiant and threatening.

"He doesn't bend the rules _for anyone_, including _me_. When I fly solo, it's because I was _told to_, or I got _validation_ for it."

"Yeah, right. Who are _you kidding_?"

"Dinah, your '_mission_', as you call it, was almost _completely personal_. It was getting in the way of your assignment at Star, not to mention mine and Oliver's. I had to tell Bruce. I'm_ sorry_. The next time you decide to do what you want, maybe you should just quit the League."

Dinah glared at Kara viciously.

"You have absolutely no idea-"

"Look. You are seriously beginning to _piss me off_." Kara looked to the side to find Tom Tresser, originally bench pressing, sitting up and eyeing the two of them in uncloaked interest. Kara looked back at Dinah. "By the way, _Lance_, the baby is a Cadmus baby, not Nate's, or Mike's, or Don's, or Wally's. If you're going to gossip about me, get your facts straight."

Dinah suddenly grinned.

"Oh, and you know for sure that it's a Cadmus baby, do you? Ah, what a little victim."

"Are you _mocking_ me? Do you know _what they_ did _to me_?"

Dinah pivoted on her heel, sighing.

"_Whatever they did, I'm sure it wasn't_-" She began to scream as Kara grabbed her by the hair and, wrapping it around her fist, swung her into the punching bag. The bag, along with several tiles, ripped off from the ceiling and fell onto Dinah's limp body as her hair was released from Kara's iron grip, and she slid across the smooth, mattressed floor into the mirror. There was a crash of glass as the shards came cascading down. Then, there was silence.

Kara looked around at the dumbfounded onlookers.

Tom abruptly darted forward, clearing away the glass and pulling out Dinah's still body from under the mass of debris. Tora absently twirled a lock of her platinum hair, and blood trickled Dinah's nose from beneath her hairline.

Kara bit her lip and pulled her hood down over her head in the low, rumbling din.

**4444444444444444444444**

Wally snapped out of his daze as Dick tapped him on the head.

"Huh?'

"We're moving."

Sighing, Wally regarded him mutely as he threw himself off the ledge, his two combat poles extending mechanically as he landed gracefully on his feet. Scratching behind his ear, he decided to take what he considered to be an easier route and ran down the side.

The wait had seemed shorter than it really had been. An awkward silence had hung between them throughout. At first, it had unsettled Wally, though, bizarrely enough, he had not taken it upon himself to mend it in anyway. In fact, he had remained completely mute, though Dick hadn't really seemed to mind or notice.

Wally realized that the silence had given him some headspace- something that allowed him to step back and think. He had thought about a lot of things- about the League, about the Titans, about Bart and Iris and Barry. Mostly about Dick. Dick and himself, to be specific. And where they stood.

They were brothers in spirit, if not blood. They had always been that way.

But now, he was anxious- perhaps even agitated. It was hard to say what he really felt, though it reminded him awfully of the initial nervousness he had felt the first time they had met.

Even at thirteen, Dick had had the same cautious confidence, the same flair and intelligence. Now that he thought about it, he realized that Dick may even been considered something of a prodigy. He had had style, talent, wit, agility, and the astounding talent of doing multiple flips in the air while simultaneously being able to spout un-retort-ably caustic comments at his disoriented victims.

He supposed it had always been there at the back of his mind, this screaming, scathing envy. He bitterly acknowledged that Dick, at thirteen, probably possessed more presence and intelligence than he, Wally, as a twenty-three-year old, would ever dream of having.

It wasn't that that really disconcerted him, though. What was he, anyway, at the end of the day? Another Flash, one with a big ego at that, just lucky enough to have been struck by lightening and lived to reap its benefits. That's all he was. Lucky. Before thirteen, before his powers, he could easily have called himself 'dull', which was perhaps even a euphemism, considering his general development up till then. At the zenith of his progress, his best talent had probably only ever been the fact that he could catch and swallow live crickets without gagging, which he had mastered by the age of four.

But Dick had never had powers. There hadn't been anything special about him, not in the same sense or category as Wally, or Clark, or Shayera. He had made a name for himself on his own. True, there had always been Bruce to help, but everyone had had their own mentors to thank for their current positions in life. No, the enigma, the sheer personality he had created by that time was nothing short of amazing, which could also be said of the discipline it probably had taken him to get to such a level, considering his serious lack of powers to fall back onto. Dick was only a regular mortal at the end of the day… well, not _regular_… but the fact that he was dead yet, or seriously injured, sent Wally's mind almost reeling.

He probably hadn't been aware, standing there so erect and tall on the ledge, how Wally seethed behind him. He probably didn't even realize how good he looked either. Wally had sniffed self-pityingly, considering his own red hair and unsightly freckles. Giving it further thought, he realized that, while he did have sharp, so-so features, his narrow, lanky build never really displayed how much muscle he truly possessed, and that, sometimes, when he was annoyed, his eyes made him look like he had a mild form of down-syndrome.

Dick was perfect. Wally was not. It was a simple mantra that floated through his head, the same mantra that had floated through it for the last ten years of his life. It didn't help that he loved the guyso much. They had been through a lot, together and apart. They had grown and still kept in touch. Dick made him forget all the crap that was happening to him, and made him remember the old days, when they just didn't give a damn… or, at least _he_ didn't. And it was just _so like Dick_ to plan a covert op on a reunion and just _ruin it all_. Because the Bat had sunk his fangs into him a long time ago, and once a bat, you're _always_ a bat.

Though he _did suppose_ that the reunion wasn't totally ruined. He was still there with Dick, fighting side by side. Because, if and when it really came down to it, he would _die_ for Dick.

_God, he would die. _

The transition from urban to suburban in Keystone was rather abrupt. The tall, brooding buildings towered behind them as they sped across the sable, weed-littered expanse towards the cross-hatched fence. The guard they had seen earlier on had taken it upon himself to wander the premise, and had just begun to turn the corner and retire to his original post. Dick pushed forward, somehow managing to cartwheel and flip into the air and over the fence. Wally had long since found his way over.

The guard, suddenly aware of their presence, pointed a threatening battery-operated torch, then dropped it and pulled out what appeared to be a pistol. Wally grinned.

"Do the honours?"

"Gladly."

The guard had begun to mumble incoherently into his headset. Dick had leapt into the air and smacked him the face with his elongated metal pole. The guard grunted and fell unconscious.

"Man, that was disappointing."

Dick shrugged and pulled off the headset, then proceeded to examine the pistol.

"Hm. Looks like a laser."

"Okay… so, there're probably other guards too, right? I guess we should round them up then?"

"Sure, go-"

Wally sprinted around the bend to see two slightly chubby guards galloping, slow-mo, towards him. Grinning, he accelerated, clothes-lining them both before they had the chance to recognize their aggressor. As they commenced their descent, and Wally slung them casually over his shoulders, suddenly painfully aware of the bruises on his arms, and also of how light these chubby men actually were.

Continuing to circle the premise, he spotted the final guard who, to his delight, was female, and not entirely bad looking. Unfortunately, not having the time to flirt, he chucked one of the unconscious men at her, with enough force and speed that he feared she actually might have suffered some sort of concussion. As she began to fall, he regained possession of the man, and, draping her limp body over his shoulders, continued the circle back towards Dick.

"-ahead."

He dumped the three bodies at Dick's feet. Dick gave the pile of security guards a hesitant look and grinned rather proudly.

"I thought you said this place was _high_ security?"

"Inside. If they have too much security outside, people will get suspicious. After all, this _is_ a '_research_' facility."

"Gotcha."

Wally cocked his head and, nodding, streaked around the corner towards the back. Dick toed the ground apprehensively, observing to the settling trail of dust Wally had left behind.

"Damn. I wish I could do that. Lucky bastard."

Sighing covetously, he cartwheeled into the shadow.

**5555555555555555555**

"Beatriz? I just want to talk. Beatriz?"

The woman swiveled gracefully, here eyes wide and fearful behind the cascades of her emerald locks.

"Michael, go. Please."

"Beatriz. It's okay. Whatever's the problem, you can tell me."

"I said _go_."

Michael blinked, and, suddenly, he was engulfed in beautiful green flames.

000000000000000000000

Yay. Sorry it took so long. Big, not so good things happening around here. Very chaotic, especially because of the whole Air France thing.

Also, initially, this chapter and the next were one massive chunk, but it was getting too long, so I split them in two.

For future reference, Arsenal's titans haven't been founded yet. Roy is currently Arsenal, but people will still refer to him as Speedy.

Also, I was bored during calculus, so I drew this. :)


	10. Chapter 10: Recollection

Aïe! I'm so sorry, **doc**- I didn't mean it to get too confusing, but I suppose that's my fault. I do not wish to cause any of my faithful readers pain in any way, so I guess that, from now on, if I introduce someone not in the JLU animated series, I will give a brief bio of them at the top. To make it easier. Again, sorry, **doc-trigger**-

Okay, so, here we go:

**Roy Harper**- Ollie's Robin, if you will. **Sidekick of the Green Arrow and Oliver Queen's adopted son,** also known as Speedy I. He got all pissy at Ollie around the same time Dick broke off from Bruce, became a druggie, came clean, went solo, and worked for the government, renaming himself Arsenal, somewhere along the way. He was a founding member of the Titans. He and the rest of the Titans were okay friends, but Roy and Dick pretty much spent more time butting heads that doing anything else in each other's presence.

**Donna Troy**- Also a founding member of the Titans, and **Diana's little sister **due to a wish she made when she was fourteen, growing up on Themiscyra (she was lonely and wanted a friend her age, so Donna was born, but in the Unites States). After being orphaned, Donna became Wonder Girl I (Wonder Girl II is Cassie Sandsmark, part of the New Team Titans), and took pleasure in gaining multiple boyfriends, including Wally West, Roy Harper (see above), Kyle Rayner (Green Lantern)… and a whole bunch of other innocent, unsuspecting guys. Still, Donna, Wally and Dick remained best friends even after the Titans broke p the first time. She eventually renamed herself Troia, then Darkstar, then went back to Troia.

Beatriz, of course, is Fire. Michael is Booster Gold.

Anyway, I hope that helped. Sorry for the inconvenience. (Sniffles.)

**Quick Warning:** Lots of swearing in this chap. If you're offended…uh… hm… close your eyes?

0000000000000000

Chapter 10: Recollection

"Ah, what a pleasant surprise." Vic's voice was soft and cutting, and it echoed metallically across the abyss wedged so conveniently between him and the silhouettes on the edge the room.

"What are you doing here?" Surprise laced her thick voice. She pivoted, her eyes wide and vacuous.

The man cocked his ears, and the dome of his head glinted in the dim light.

"Amanda…." His low voice threatened.

"Calm down, Lex." She waved off his warning. "We'll tell him what he wants to hear, and he'll go away."

Vic rolled his shoulders, evidently amused.

"Sorry to barge in. Just thought I'd stop by."

Lex growled.

"You might just want to announce yourself next time, Faceless Man." His antipathy was clear.

"I'm not here to fight. Just to ask a few questions."

"True to your name."

Vic began his journey across the dull, tiled expanse.

"I trust you are both in good health."

"Hardly, considering the treatment I received from your League during my debriefing," Lex spat bitterly. Moonlight pushed its rays through the static blinds, like knife reflections against a sea of tar.

"Is it too callous of me to tell you that you were our main suspect?" There was laughter in Vic's muffled voice. He could see the shadow of Lex's arm cast.

"Do you think I would have been stupid enough to be present at something like that if I was behind it?"

"I don't know. You're a smart man. Who knows what you think?"

"Impertinent fool." Lex's resentment dripped from his eyes. They gleamed in the low contrast of the dusk. Amanda grimaced.

"Well, perhaps we should move on to the actual questions."

"Yes, perhaps we should." Vic paused effectually, tossing them a folder. "Look inside."

Amanda grunted, fumbling with the package. Lex looked up scathingly.

"I thought that Flash-fellow was dead. Though I suppose he didn't seem all that lively on the evening news."

"It isn't that easy to kill a man like him, Lex." Vic canted his head, and Lex scowled his irritation.

Amanda's gasp cut through the ensuing silence.

"What, what is this? Are you… _blackmailing us_?"

Behind the featureless mask, Vic began to smile.

**222222222222222222222222**

J'onn sat in the solitude of the Womb, the Earth swiveling before him in all its feinted placidity. The silence swelled around him.

Sometimes, this place _disgusted him_.

Suddenly, the silence was broken.

"Diana, have Shayera or John arrived from their missions yet?"

"No, not yet."

J'onn fell back into his musing quietness. Then,

"I am afraid."

Diana looked up.

"Afraid?"

"For the League. For our members."

Diana chewed her lip.

"Why?"

"We are tearing ourselves apart."

Diana's lashes fluttered down.

Once more, the oceanic silence swelled around them, lapping against their senses. J'onn breathed in, and his eyes snapped open, wide and horrified.

"_Something is happening in the reactor room._"

"What?"

"We must get down there, now!"

He pressed his palm violently into the adjacent button, and suddenly, the world was screaming with raucous sirens. Diana rose into the air below the flashing lights, glancing fleetingly at J'onn before darting out into the flooded halls.

J'onn exhaled tensely.

_I think… I think we've found our traitor._

**333333333333333333333333**

Wally streaked down the steel-grey hallway, the air burning against his face.

By the first third of it, he had picked up enough speed to blow all the cameras off the ceiling, and he was certain that anyone still up and working would not be able to see him.

He was a writhing blur in the Acropolis of metal, but it didn't matter to him- _this was a favour, and nothing more_. The defiance of the statement pounded in his ears.

Veering sharply around the corner, he zoomed up the staircase, coming to a sudden, screeching halt at the end of the new corridor. He turned towards the two large, mechanical doors, and his eyes flickered across frame. Placing his fingertips against its cool, metallic surface, his arms began to pulse, and the static crackled between his long, tapered fingers. The metal began to shriek and splutter, melting away into two large openings around his blurred arms.

_Come with me._

For a fleeting instant he froze.

_No, no, not now. I can't fail Dick. _He grittedhis teeth and pushed through the liquefying steel, ignoring the soundless pulsing in his head.

"Hey, who-" The man in beige shorts was greeted by Wally's fist. He kicked the limp body into the corner under a desk, wringing his hand self-pityingly.

The compartment in his wristband split open, revealing his League commlink and a small blue button, which he shoved grudgingly into his ear, pressing the top with his thumb. Static ensued.

"N-dubya?"

"I just finished tying up the guards. Security systems down?"

"Nope. Not yet."

For a moment, he stared at the large, flickering screen, a lump of tension formed at the base of his throat.

_Computers._ He _hated_ them.

"Okay. I'll be waiting at the west exit if anything goes wrong."

"Gotcha."

He suddenly realized that knocking out the guard may not totally have been to his advantage, but he pushed forward with defiant, anxious confidence, pressing buttons here and there wherever they seemed right, and suddenly very aware of how hungry he was.

God, he was hungry.

It wasn't the regular hunger, more a nervous craving. Like something really, really bad was going to happen, and he needed something to keep it away. But even then, he was hungry for hunger's sake, and his body was aching and trying to keep up with the commands his brain screamed out. He didn't know how to describe it, he never did, this _hunger_ that _constantly_ plagued him, as though his stomach was a ceaselessly growing black-hole that would never be satiated, and his body would continue to ache behind its gradually lessening store of fuel.

He snapped back. Somehow, during his momentary lapse in concentration/hunger-rant, he had managed to reach the desired security screen. He was surprised at how much simpler the controls were than those at the Tower.

'_Enter_', the button glared. His thumb met with its jeering face.

_Come with me. You want to._

He paused. Not his usual pause, where he vibrated silently, sullenly in place. No, he didn't move. He was completely still, and the feeling that overcame him was frightening and alien.

He breathed, and the tip of his index met the blue cap in his ear as the buzzing in the room wound down.

"Done." His voice quivered, eerily toneless.

"Good."

He opened his mouth.

"So, you'll get the files, and we're meeting up in the big auditorium thing, right?"

"Right."

"Hm."

The subsequent wave of sluggishness made him grope for stability, and, for a moment, his dizzy world faded to an unidentifiable haze of dots.

He swerved into the hallway and, suddenly, he didn't feel so good.

**444444444444444444444444**

He had passed this hallway twice. It was empty, and the building echoed with the still, unsure omnipresence of abandonment.

_Suspicious. _

He pursed his taciturn lips and glanced at his, or, rather, Dick's watch, built into the suit.

_1:27 a.m._

He raked a quivering hand through his messy auburn hair, slowing it to a rest just above the back of his pale, freckled neck.

It was back. He was sure of it now, though somehow not more certain than the first time he heard its whist allure. Its voiceless cajoles, its silvery, metaphysical fingers, they were caressing, soothing, calling to him. Again.

He didn't understand it, why it was _now _that it had chosen to make its fated appearance. He had waited for so long, yearning, whispering. But it had come now….

To test him?

_Not now. Not now._

Wally pushed through, into the boundlessness of the main auditorium. The doors swung back and forth behind him, echoing across the cobwebbed sea of draped machinery.

"I got what we wanted."

"Ah!" Wally stepped back, palpably alarmed. "Jesus, don't scare me like that!"

Dick threw him a cursory, scrutinizing glance.

"You don't look good."

"Wow, thanks for the ego-boost-"

"No, you were acting weird earlier too. I'm worried about you. If you weren't up to this, you should have told me. I'd have understood," whispered Dick.

"Okay, you know what? Why don't we do the '_I'm not okay, you're not okay_' stuff later. We gotta get out of here, and fast. There's something about this place that isn't right."

"I agree, but I still need to check out something."

_Your chance is now. _

It was fiercer, louder than before. Wally paled.

"Wall?"

There was a distant click of metal sliding into place.

"_Hands up, freaks."_

"Great," Dick muttered darkly.

In a deft, abrupt movement, Dick had flipped vertically onto the adjacent platform, vehemently dressed in his truculent fighting stance, his poles extended threateningly at their aggressor.

Then, his hard, determined face twisted in confusion.

For a moment, the two parties merely stared at each other.

"Dick… is that you?" A hoarse, incredulous voice called from across the auditorium. Wally squinted up at the silhouette.

"…Roy?"

The man waved a long red arrow.

"Dick! Long time, no see! And Wally's here too!"

Below, Wally began to redden.

"What are you doing here?" Dick shielded his eyes slightly. The irritation in his query was stiff and subtle.

"Wall, Dicky, you don't seem happy to see me!" Despite the comment, Roy appeared significantly blanched himself.

"No, no- we are! It's just-"

"Not the greatest time. Tell me about it. Well, I'll admit, I guess I'd be happier to see you too, if I didn't have orders to kill you both."

Wally blinked.

"What?"

"But, since we're all childhood buddies, I'll allow you both to hand over the files and skip away, and we'll pretend none of this ever happened, okay?"

Almost instinctively, Dick tensed into fighting-mode.

"Sorry, _no can do_-"

The man in the goggles mimicked.

"Look, Bird-Boy. I have orders. I take them seriously. So should you."

"_Who are you working for_? I thought you worked for the government."

"I do. Sort of. These are Cadmus' orders."

"You work for Cadmus?"

"It's because of Oliver, isn't it?"

The words had rolled out Wally's mouth before he had had the chance to restrain them. Roy inhaled sharply.

"Don't pretend you understand me, Fleet-Feet." Wally's discomfiture was red in his face. Roy looked slightly pensive. "Look," he started slowly. "I know I wouldn't be who I am, or where I am right now without Oliver. I acknowledge it. Just like you wouldn't be without Barry. Or Bruce, in the case of Dicky, here." Wally tensed, and Roy's voice became hard and authoritative. "You can't deny that my anger is justified. He lied to me. He fucked with me. You know it. You've been through it. Both of you. Oliver, Bruce, Arthur- they're all the same. Even you, Wall. Man, I know the shit Barry did to you. He wasn't even alive, and he was fucking with your head."

Wally stiffened.

"Look, we aren't here to talk about Oliver, Barry or Bruce."

"Okay. I guess my subtle hints for you to get lost aren't working, then, are they?"

There was an awkward pause, and Wally began to saunter towards the dais, just beyond the shadow of the balcony on which Roy stood. He looked up, and his eyes were uncharacteristically lifeless.

"How, much are they paying you, _Shafty_?"

Roy grinned.

"Wow, I haven't been called that in years."

"Just enough for your daily dope, huh?"

Roy's grin suddenly disappeared.

"You know, I was doing you a _favour_- I was being _courteous_ by not bringing that up." He shot a vicious look at Dick. "Hey, Birdie. You wanna know something about Fleet over there? He likes snow." He pressed a finger to one of his nostrils and snorted suggestively. Wally had become almost completely still. Roy grinned maliciously. "Brings back memories, don't it, Wall? Man, those were the days when getting high felt good. I always thought you'd be the first to OD, doing it all at once, but, man, those spiffy speed-powers of yours, I'm amazed you didn't die."

Dick looked slightly stunned. He turned to look at Wally, whose face had suddenly transitioned into a deathly chalk-white, as if the remembrance of something truly horrific had hit him squarely in the nose. Slowly, he opened his mouth.

"I kicked it within a day."

"But _you did it for a year and a half_. Nothing changes it. If you think you can forget something like that, at least know that I won't. So don't act like you're so much better than I am, Wall-o. You're not. You were one fucked up kid, and maybe you still are, because, as I've heard about it, things aren't going too well for you." He suddenly slid an arrow into place on his crossbow. "I'll tell you now, I hated your guts. At least I wasn't hypocritical enough to make it look like I was such a _happy, peace-loving little turd_." Something red streaked towards them, exploding loudly as it hit the floor. Wally sprinted backwards and Dick somersaulted to the side. "Oh, Dicky- you looked slightly shocked!" He let free another arrow. It exploded on the wall by Dick's head. The light and heat were vivid and blinding. "You know, for an _ex-carnie_, you're pretty naïve."

"Am I? Well, I guess my '_carnie_ skills' make up for it." Dick flipped forward as another arrow hit the wall and flung a small, disc shaped object at his chest. Roy attempted to dive but it struck his shoulder. He screamed in agony, and, as he hit the floor, the electricity pulsing up his arm though, almost immediately after doing so, he rolled onto his feet. Something on the top of his forearm crunched into place, and the haze began to rise in a cyclone of explosive dust.

"Shit!" Wally sneezed. "I can't see!" The air was filled with hot, fulgent sparks. They burst painfully against his skin. "_Goddamn!_" His eyes widened and he jerked his head to the side as a shiny, black disc sliced into the pillar beside him. "Fuck it, Dick! You're throwing like Helen Keller!"

"Sorry! I can't-Aaaah!" His scream became one with the ensuing explosion. The sparks and dust began to multiply.

"_Dick!_" Wally grunted in agitation. "_Damn it_, Roy!"

He set his jaw in resolute determination, and his feet began to push the world into a gyrating slow-motion.

"_That's it- keep spinning! Gather all of it!_" Dick's dizzy voice was slow and distant.

He felt the dust pull around him, like a swiveling aura of grey diffractedness. The sparks burned against his skin, bursting into multi-coloured fireworks on the sky of his suit's black-lacquer. He felt the greyness begin to dissolve, and the world became a sluggish blur.

The sharp, rope-like steel cut into his biceps. He yelled, and gravity seemed to yank him towards the wall.

"Gah!" The dust dispersed, and his head was thrown backwards against the wall's hard surface. The cords held him tightly against the cold cement. He breathed, and felt the grip get tighter. His eyes widened, and the tinny, floating orbs were reflected in his irises. "Dick, watch it!"

Dick swiveled, and his pole met with the orb's shining face. It gleamed, and Dick screamed as the electricity coursed through his writhing body.

Wally exhaled, and his shoulders began to vibrate. He lifted his legs, pushing against the nearest pillar and into the wall. The light encapsulated his pulsing form, and the cracks began to spread, like ink seeping into empty veins of cement. He yelled his fury.

"_Wall, you crazy bastard!_" Roy pivoted, his face twisted in alarm. "_It's going to_ _collapse on you_!"

Wally's lips widened menacingly.

_Boom._

The wall was a sea of fire and debris behind him, and the dust rose, puffing, swirling and dissolving into the air, like blood in water. There was a low, thunderous crack as a part of the ceiling began to disintegrate.

Roy's eyes widened.

"_Dick!_" He slid forward and pulled back the lifeless body as a large chunk of cement exploded against the ground. Dick stirred conscious, only to witness the dust and flame part and streak of black and red flip Roy into the settling dust.

Roy threw his arms forward, and a cable slithered into the air, biting the top of what remained of the balcony. He swung forth, and the heel of his boot made swift contact with Wally's unsuspecting face.

"Sorry, Wall!"

Wally rolled over onto his stomach, blood spraying through his massaging fingers. An orb hovered threateningly overhead.

Dick leapt to his feet and, cartwheeling forward, frisbeed another small, black disc. It severed Roy's cord, just as he planted an unsure foot onto the railed platform. Dick rolled forward, grabbing his lolling combat pole. Roy hit the ground with an indiscriminate grunt.

In the background, Wally thrashed with all the futility of a dying insect. The floating orbs had each spouted a viciously sharp, pointed pair of legs, and were gleefully stabbing away at Wally's curled body.

Roy raised his giddy head, and a dull soreness broke through his chest. He heaved. Dick peered down through the holes in his mask, leaning heavily on his pole.

"Call them off him. _Now._"

Roy grinned through his defiant turquoise eyes.

"You've practically destroyed the place, you know. Well, at least _he _did. I never realized he had such a talent to make things go _boom. _I guess, sometimes, absence makes you strangers, huh?" He hacked as Dick's pole made vicious contact with the side of his jaw.

"_Now, _Roy." The end of the pole had sprouted a sadistic-looking metal spike. It hovered a threatening millimeter away from Roy's throat. Roy sniffed.

"Sure, babe. Anything you say."

His pressed a finger to the center of his palm.

The orbs started to screech, steering away from Wally's crouched form.

Dick's eyes widened.

Without warning, Roy's legs twisted around Dick's. Dick crashed to the ground and Roy rolled to the side, pushing his outstretched hand onto a panel in the floor. The orbs began to swarm, and Dick began to swat. Suddenly, he began to sink. The orbs dove in synchrony, clawing into his arms and legs, pausing, as though savouring his blood. He gasped, and they dispersed. The ground beneath him shook and fell, and suddenly, there was nothing there but a fluorescent-green circle of light.

"Dick!" Wally crawled forward. The orbs had pulled back their legs, were now hovering complacently by the broken wall. It was beginning to drizzle, and the rain was falling through.

Roy grinned childishly.

"Pretty neat, eh? It's like a cylindrical, underground jail. It's like you're a fly trapped under a glass, with a glowing green coffee-filter for a lid. An electrocuting, glowing green coffee-filter. Wicked, huh? Bet your League doesn't have _that_." He looked up from the flickering circle on the floor.

Roy's vision wavered, and he was suddenly against the pillar behind him. A clenched, gloved fist flicked across Roy's face. He twitched to the side, blood spurting generously from his nose. Wally breathed, pulling back his vibrating fist, static pulsing around his knuckles.

"We're even now," he breathed; his voice was cold and livid. Their eyes met in a single, frosty glare.

"I'm engaged to Donna," Roy said quietly. Blood streamed from his nostrils, and down his chin and neck.

Wally's shoulders relaxed, his face blank, unresponsive. His fingers lost their grip on Roy's gored collar. For a moment, they merely stared at each other.

Roy drew up, wiping the blood from his upper lip. He suddenly pulled back his shoulder and threw his fist forward, hitting Wally squarely in the jaw. Wally staggered backwards, spitting blood. He turned to face Roy, his eyes bright and fierce. He was met with Roy's submissive gaze.

"She fucks you in her dreams," he muttered quietly. Wally's face remained unchanged, and Roy groped for his crossbow. "It's not your fault. Please believe me when I say I didn't want fight either of you. I didn't want to do this. Especially to you, Wall."

Wally looked up dizzily, and he was blinded by the light above. Neon green flickered and buzzed, and suddenly, he was face-up on the floor.

He groaned and rolled over, his burning face in his hands. It stung, like hot coals being shoved up his nostrils and throat. The blood was crusting on his lips and fingers.

He crawled to his feet and canted his head. The neon green was a transparent disc above them, like a glowing dish over a cylindrical pit of cement.

He stared at Dick, knees to his chin in what may or may not have been the corner. Wally looked up.

"Too high to jump?" Dick's response was silence. Wally shrugged, pinching his nose. "At least we still have the files…right?"

Dick pulled out two tiny labeled discs, encapsulated in a small plastic sachet. Wally gurgled and tilted back his head, trying to stem the flow of blood.

"You were a _druggie_?" Dick's question was sudden and scathing. Wally gurgled and spat. His saliva was a dark, thick red. He wiped his mouth and quickly tilted his head back, pinching down with his forefinger and thumb.

"Mnnnnhnnnnmhh… this is _so_ not the time for this."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I… forgot?" He looked to the side, still pinching his nose. His pupils widened at the sudden change in light. "No, seriously, I did. Why would I bring up _his_ problem if I hadn't?" Dick remained unmoved. Wally sighed. "You weren't _there_, Dick. You were in _India_. Something you declined to tell me before you left." His voice was irreverently casual. "I had to go crying to Bruce."

"Bruce knew?"

"Yeah. Bruce knew. And Alfred."

"You told _Bruce_. You didn't tell me _at all_."

"My God- will you _stop competing with him?_ He's your _father_, for crying out loud."

"He is _not _my_ father_."

"He freaking _raised_ you, buddy. If that isn't what a father is-"

"_You're changing the subject._"

"Look, this isn't the time or place for this."

"Why not? We're _stuck here_, aren't we? Go on, I'm listening. I'm here_ now_."

"I had _reasons_ for not telling you."

"What? You thought I _wouldn't be your friend_ anymore? That I'd freak and ex-communicate you? I grew up in a fucking circus, for Christ's sake," Dick sneered. "So what did you do, Wall? Coke, speed, heroin?"

"I was _seventeen_. I'm done. It's not a big deal." His tone had become betrayingly defensive.

"No, it _is_ a _big_ deal. A _very big_ deal."

"You know, we're kind of _trapped_ underground in a high-security weapons research-or-whatever facility. We might want to actually _try to escape_." Dick threw Wally an acerbic glare. Blood began to rise in Wally's freckled cheeks. "You know- I told you this would happen. I told you, goddamit. You and your '_I always do everything alone- I won't get help from Bruce_'-shit…. Gah! If we had gotten help from the League-"

"The League would never have affirmed this mission."

"And how do you know that? I'm one of the original seven. My vote would have counted big time. John and Shayera love me, so they would have voted my way. You know, you just like to _think_ that the _whole world_ is against you, but it's really not."

"Stop blaming this all on me. You didn't seem all _that_ resistant to the plan."

"Because you're _my friend_, and _friends_ help each other, _alright_?"

"Keep telling yourself that."

"God, sometimes, you are _such_ a _dick_… no pun intended."

"Will you just _shut up_ and let me _think_?"

"_Fine_. Go _think yourself_ to fucking hell."

Dick Bat-glared and leaned against the circular wall, his jaw beginning to work.

Wally sighed and looked up towards the mouth of their prison, squinting at the brilliance of the force-field.

_Detach yourself, Wally. _

Its voice was soothing, hypnotic. It numbed the pain. The dizziness of chaos flooded is mind.

His pale lashes fluttered down and he leaned heavily against the wall, pressing his face into his hands. An peculiar calmness shrouded his darting thoughts.

He realized that he wasn't breathing.

Slowly, he looked up, shielding his eyes slightly from the green brilliance. His brows began to knit in concentration.

"You got something?"

He paused musingly.

"It… flickers."

"What… the force-field?"

"Yeah, don't you see it?"

"No."

"Every four seconds or so… it flickers for about a tenth of a second."

"You think you can get past it?"

"Maybe, though I don't know if it's the light or the force-field itself."

"Give it a try."

"I dunno… I don't have enough distance."

"Distance?"

"You're the smart one. I need distance to pick up speed. I need to time myself."

"Okay…."

"Stand in the center."

Dick nodded and backed into the middle. Wally set his mouth in a rigid line and pushed forward. He felt himself climbing, spiraling up the walls, faster and faster. He approached the light.

Suddenly, he felt a searing pain, and the acridity was overpowering. His skin was on fire….

"Wall?" Dick hissed. Wally stared out blankly from behind tired irises. He was face-up on the floor and his arms were smoking. Suddenly aware of the stabbing pain, he groaned and rolled over to his side, pushing himself off the floor. Dick scowled and helped pull him up. Hunger shrieked hysterically in his stomach.

"My timing was _really_ off. I mean, _really_."

"Whatever. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm going to try again."

"Look, the point is to escape, not kill yourself."

"Well, we can't escape if we don't try. Stay in the center."

He looked up and rubbed his nape, concentrating on the flicker of the glowing sheet.

Pressing his body against the circular wall, he hunched over into a runner's stance. Looking up once more, he thrust forward and began to circle, faster, faster, faster. Dick was an indigo blur in the center. Wally pressed his foot into the wall. Faster, faster, he concentrated on the flicker.

There was a deafening buzz and suddenly, he was through. He kicked his legs forward and rolled onto the floor.

An oblivious Roy sat sedatedly against the gargantuan column, forehead against his knees and a walkie-talkie by his side.

Wally somersaulted onto his feet and reached forward for Roy's arm. Roy looked up, momentarily stunned. The blood had dried on his face. He was jerked forward, and his elbow cracked painfully as his palm was forced into the embossed floor-panel.

The green lid sputtered and dissolved like ether, and the depressed circle in the floor began to rise.

The sky was filled with the thunderous roar of rotating wings and engines against the beating rain. The light filtered through the non-existent wall.

"_We have surrounded the building. You are all under arrest._" The loudspeakers blared, nonchalant and routine.

Dick shielded his face from the intruding brilliance, his hair twisting surreally around his colour-strained face.

"_Here, catch!_" Something nondescriptly transparent was hurled into Wally's scrunched face. He caught at is fell. It shimmered in his palm.

The files. He nodded comprehension, and the pain shot through his calves.

He ran.

The streets wound around him, dripping, perpetually moving streaks of dark water-colour. He ran, and he was one with the wind and rain, concentrating on nothing else but the rhythmic, paced movement of his feet against the slippery asphalt.

_Come with me. Detach yourself. I shall make you forget._

_I shall make you forget. _

The world began to grind to a shaky halt, the grating cogs screaming their defiance to accession. His feet began to slow, and time between his steps grew longer and longer, until all the world was still, and he was drenched in the frost of the rain.

_It's your chance. Now is your chance._

She stood there in front of him, her sable clothes clinging to her frail, transparent body. She looked out at him through fathomless eyes, and it was as though all the colour in her irises had been squelched out into her tears. She was an apparition of the rain, something from the black of his memory that severed his vocal chords like a rusty, serated blade.

_Come away with me, Wally. I shall make you forget._

Her lips were lilac. They parted behind her stringy hair.

_Lydia_, he mouthed voicelessly.

"Take off your mask," her voice was like the cutting wind that scarred the back of his neck. He was silent. "_Take off your mask_." Her voice was soft, light and incensed. She was screaming at him, through the storm. They were a metre apart, but light-years away from each other.

His fingers lifted to his brow, and the mask peeled off, crumpling, withering at his feet. Her nostrils flared, and her breath was a silver swirl of revulsion.

"It was you, wasn't it? It had always been you. That's why you never came back." She exhaled. "You abandoned me. I followed the clues, I followed you here. I thought you would protect me. They turned on me when you left. I thought you would make it right. You never came back. You ignored me." She gulped. " I went back. I tried to make it right- I brought them together… and even _then_ you wouldn't allow me to be happy. You… you killed _them_. _You killed them. You killed everything_. _You don't even… care_." She was silent. Behind him echoed the low rumble of searching helicopters. Her fingers quivered before her, twisting into shining, black grip. He stared down its ominous barrel. "They _call you a hero._" She screamed. Mascara ran in discoloured streams down her sallow cheeks. "_You're nothing! You're nothing!_"

_Come away with me._

He couldn't protest now. It was calling.

He could taste the irony tinge of his own blood.

_Come …away… with… me….._

Something hot thudded dully against his ribs, pushing in against his lungs. The frost was leaden on his skin.

Bang.

Bang. Bang.

He was choking on the air, drowning in the confusion of his senses.

_"You know, they're going to die anyway, right? I mean, we've all got to die someday… but, like, what if a huge, flaming comet suddenly launches itself towards Earth? Will we be able to stop it? What if it's too big? I mean, what if it's happening right now? What if it's the design of the universe, somehow? Or what if, like, I'm dying of cancer, right now, and I don't know it? Or what if… what if, one day, I run so fast that, like, my heart just stops beating? Like, it just stops? What if that is the design of the universe? Will I die, and leave all the people I care for unprotected? Will I die without making up for all the things I couldn't do, or all the things I wish I hadn't done? Will I die without ever figuring out the answers to all my stupid questions? And, what if you exist- though I suppose you do because, if you don't, then who's listening to this?- and I'm, like, totally screwed or am stuck in purgatory for the rest of eternity? And will people care? 'Cuz no one ever takes me seriously, and they're always telling me to shut up, because I have a really big mouth…. You know, will people pray for me when I die? Or, like, if I don't die, and I go into some sort of coma, who will be there at the hospital, waiting for me? Who will be there waiting for me when I wake up? Who will be there to answer all my stupid questions? Who will be there to tell me how stupid I am?"_

_But I'm not stupid,_ he thought quietly, as the world began to spin. _I'm not._ _I understand now._

_I understand…._

Bang.

Bang.

Bang

Bang…

00000000000000

Mwahaha. Cliffhanger. Is he alive? Is he dead? If you've noticed, I am not that kind with Wally (though I do love him so), so you'll never really know … till next chapter.

I know it was a bit of a long chapter. It took me ages to write. My fight scenes are what can be described as 'sucky'. They are tedious… but necessary. And Wally whupped some ass anyway (that way, we're all happy).

I just quickly want to thank everyone that has been reading up till now. I'm so glad that you enjoy this fiction. I also really want to thank my reviewers (_alphabetical order:_ **Alba Aulbath, Ashlee, astalder27, Averroes, booboaba, devilburns, doc-trigger, Gotham's Princess, lins, Miyosha, Monty09, SilentTrainConducter, sokerfreek922, trecebo,** and anyone else I may have missed out). Virtual chocolate cheesecake for all of you!


	11. Chapter 11: Slip

**Note 1:** The italicized random talking going on in Wally's head isn't just in his head, as you shall see later.

**Note 2:** Trust me when I say you don't need to have read the comics to understand the context of some of these characters in the story. My blurbage at the top should be adequate (see previous chap for Roy/Donna bios).

**Note 3:** _Pleeeeeeeeeeeease_ trust me when I say that I am a plot-detail freak and hate leaving loose ends, so everything will be explained in due time!

**Note 4: **D.C. owns all characters except for Lydia, my creation (i.e. the chick in the rain that shot Wally in the face, like, seven-bajillion times).

0000000000000000

Chapter 11: Slip

The beeps punctuated the dull silence.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Was that a machine, or was it his heart?_ He didn't know, for now, to him, they seemed frighteningly interconnected as he the air forced itself into his lungs.

Their soundless lips moved beneath their masks, under stoic eyes and shower-capped heads. The blades grazed his skin, cutting through it like warm butter; they tickled like a slight itch in the dry heat of summer.

_Beep._

_Beep._

It was slightly irritating to him. He wanted them to turn it off. He opened his mouth to tell them, but they didn't seem to hear.

He slowly sat up and, as if they almost wished to infuriate him, the beeps suddenly merged into a long, strident buzz.

But it was an odd feeling that overcame him. He felt sort of airy and light, like, he could have just floated away if he had really wanted to. He smiled. He had always wanted to fly.

His vision melting into something painfully bright. Its tapered fingers were lucid against his throat, misting about him like warm breath hitting cool air.

_You didn't come. You didn't listen. You little, writhing fool. Look at what you've done._

His head turned towards the large window on the right side of the room. Past the darkened, gradient glass, he could the silhouettes of various people peering through. Some, though, had their faces in their hands.

He didn't have the time to decipher their features, for, before he could look any further, he felt the feverish coursing of electricity through his body and, suddenly he fell back into still heaviness.

_Beep._

_Beep._

The beeps continued.

**2222222222222222222222222**

Alone, in the singular vastness, a static, hunched figure listened raptly to the distant crackle of recorded voices. The walls were painted with gradients of neon light, and they gleamed off the metallic surfaces that bedecked the room.

"_What were you doing at the Spartan Labs research facility?_" The words were played back in Shayera's fierce, stoic tone. The anger was definitely there.

She had returned from her mission in deep space to find the Watchtower in chaos. She had almost broken a table when she had discovered what had happened to Wally. She had screamed and pointed fingers. She had blamed _him_.

She had blamed him for sending Wally away. Just as Diana had. And John, though the bitterness had not crept out further than the brusque look that had been shot at him passing by in the corridor.

Bruce reclined slightly. He had sent Shayera to debrief Roy, partially because there had been no one available to do it, and partially because he hadn't wanted to her to actually see Wally. She was strong, no doubt, but he knew as well as any other that the incident with the Speed Force had shaken her down to her unflinching Thanagarian core. Wally was almost… her _son_. And to see him covered in his own blood, unmoving, _unsmiling_….

An alien fear prickled up the sides of his neck, like soft, tickling needles. He clenched his jaw, and the prickling dissipated.

"_I was given orders by Cadmus to wait there. They had been tipped-off that someone might attempt to encroach the territory,_" Roy's recorded voice answered obediently.

"_Why was Cadmus so interested in protecting this particular research facility?_"

"I don't know."

"_Who tipped them off?_"

"_I don't know, but the message was sent from Gotham._"

"_What did the message say?_"

"_That Nightwing would try to get in and replicate certain files._"

"_Do you know who sent it?_"

"_Not sure._"

"_Did it mention Nightwing by name?_"

"_It did._"

"_And he came he came, like it said?_"

"_Yes, and he brought… Flash with him. If course, I don't think I was supposed to **know** he was the Flash… whatever._"

"_Do you know the nature of the files he was after?_"

"_Mmm…no._"

"_You tried to stop them from leaving._"

"_Yes. We fought… and stuff. I retrained them for a bit. Somehow Wall- er… Flash managed to get out, but that time I had called the choppers to take them away. Nightwing tossed the files to Flash, and he ran for it._"

Silence.

"_Then?_"

"_I don't know. I didn't want Flash involved with this. Nightwing took off, and I sent all the choppers after him. I thought I could confront Flash myself. I went after him… I remembered my fiancée giving me his address once, I thought he might have headed in that direction. By the time I got there, he…_" he trailed off.

"_Go on._"

"_There was this girl, in the rain, and she was screaming at him, and he was totally not moving or anything, sort of like him on the news._" His breath was jagged against the air. "_I couldn't really tell her features because of the darkness and the rain. She was pointing a gun at him. I yelled at him to move, but I didn't think he heard it. I thought she was only threatening him, but she had raised it in a certain way, as if she was about to shoot._" He drew in a long, laboured breath.

"_But you shot at him too._"

"_It was a blank arrow. I didn't have time to get down, so I shot at him, hoping it might move him out of the line of fire, or at least snap him out of his trance._"

There was a long sigh. This time, it was Shayera's.

"_It didn't work, did it?_"

"_I don't know what happened. He… didn't fell far away enough… and the bitch just kept shooting at him…. I don't even know what happened then, it was just so weird…._" He paused. "_I was supposed to keep any information from that place from getting out.. That was my job. I was supposed to do it, even at the cost of life._" There was another silence, and a light ruffle of paper. "_You know, how do you watch a guy you've known since you were thirteen… **die**?_"

"_I know this is hard, but please stick to the events._"

"_Okay. Well, anyway, like I said, it was all weird… and it was sort of like he was being consumed by this light, and he was all flickering and ghostly…._"

Shayera took a sharp breath.

"_Did he disappear?_"

"_I don't know, I… yeah… maybe… I just kind o f jumped down and screamed at him a lot… like, his name and stuff. I didn't know what was happening to him. I don't believe in God and magic and stuff, but I thought… maybe it was an angel or something? No, it was just really weird. Yeah… and Nightwing showed up. Somehow, he had managed to evade the choppers, but, yeah, I didn't even care that he was there. It was like the light was eating his body or something, and I kept tugging at him, and suddenly, the light was gone, and he was just… there. And the blood was like a swimming pool. It was just… too weird._"

Pause.

"_What about the girl?_"

"_She took off. But she left the assault weapon behind. You guys have it, I think._"

"_That is all I have to ask you. Is there anything you'd like to add?_"

There was an uneasy pause, and a shifting a chairs and feet.

"_I want to talk to Ollie._"

Bruce hit the button at the center of the table, and the recording was cut to an end. He drew himself up to full height, and marched out the splitting doors.

**3333333333333333333333333**

Steam clouded the already foggy room. Dick fiddled with the taps and the water went from cold to hot. His face and hair were streaked with blood that, for some reason, wouldn't seem to rub off.

They had treated his burns with a special, alien salve, and given him a quick medical. He hadn't broken anything, and most of his scars and burns had dissolved like ether under the stinging, scented balm. They had covered the remaining wounds up with weather-and-laser-proof gauze, and told him he was free to go. But he was wounded in a place that couldn't be healed.

He had almost reached Wally's apartment complex when he had found Roy, hunched over and rocking back and forth in the middle of the road, cradling Wally's silent head in his gored arms.

The blood was pooling around him so much that he could have drowned in it. It had it had leaked from his open, soundless mouth, and his usually bright, auburn hair had soaked up its dark, crimson muddiness.

At first, he had just stood there, vacant and stunned, uncertain of what to do. Then it struck him.

Wally had been shot.

_Wally had been shot._

He had panicked, one of the few things he had been taught never to do, kneeling by Wally's still body and screaming at him to react… to say _something_. The panic had risen when Wally's usually talkative mouth had remained wide and silent. Shaking uncontrollably and completely mute, Roy's eyes had been wide and empty in his white, blood-streaked face. He had looked up at Dick, and his expression had been eerily blank.

In the darkness, he had groped for Wally's commlink. He had remembered Wally telling him that, even on leave, it was active, though he usually kept it turned off. He knew Wally had brought it with him. Roy had begun to mutter deliriously.

The small light on its front had flickered on.

"_Hello?"_ His voice had been thin and quivering.

"_Watchtower here, who is this?"_ A jarringly familiar voice had rasped over the crackling of static.

"_Bruce, this is Dick-"_

"You are not a part of the League, you are not authorized to-" 

"_Wally's been shot."_

There had been a brief silence on the other end.

"_What?"_

"_Wally West has been shot. He is going to die."_

"_Where are you?"_

"_Outside his apartment complex. He's bleeding a lot. I…I can't staunch his wounds. You need to send someone over, now."_

"_Is he breathing?"_

"_Yes…no…I… I can't tell."_

"_Does he have a pulse?"_

"_Barely. Bruce, you have to send them over **now**."_

"I've alerted Hawk and Green Arrow, they-" 

"_Bruce, he's **dying**. Please, hurry."_

Hank and Oliver had appeared out of the shadows. On spotting Roy, Oliver appeared to do a double-take.

"_Two more Leaguers have been teleported down in front of the building. They should be up any moment."_

"_Oh my God… Bruce, this is all my fault," _had beenhis solemn whisper.

"_He'll be okay. He's strong. He'll pull through."_

He hoped Bruce was right, that he'd pull through. But 'hope' was still a foreign word in his dictionary, for it was something still too intangible to trust.

He placed the body wash by the corner of the cubicle and watched the foam whirlpool around the drain.

Stepping out of the cubicle, he wrapped a towel around his waist and sauntered out of shower area. Bruce was standing outside, waiting for him with fresh, folded clothes.

"We're going to have to debrief you."

"I know."

"It seems Cadmus wants you in custody." Bruce flexed his voice, but its usual condescending ice was lost on Dick.

"Do they? Do they know I'm here?"

"Not yet. I'm sure they will, soon enough. We're going to put you up in a holding room. You'll stay there for the rest of the while."

"No… I want to be there when he wakes up." Bruce was silent, and a lump of fear began to rise in Dick's throat. "He's not-"

"No, he's in surgery. He was shot seven times in the upper left side of his body. Eight, including the bullet wound in right hand, but I suspect that is from an earlier occasion." Bruce handed him the clothes. "Change. I'll be in the medical wing if you need me."

Dick nodded and stared after the draped shoulders that disappeared down the hallway.

**44444444444444444444**

Dick was debriefed by J'onn. His questions were very concise and, though Dick had yet to get used to the mental probing done by the Martian, he bore it patiently through its brief period.

Exiting, he and Roy had exchanged intangible looks in the hallway. He had brushed the shoulder of a struggling young woman adorned in green, a hulking, armoured figure leached firmly onto each of her muscular arms. She glared astringently and was shoved violently into the adjacent room.

He joined Bruce and John, fully clothed, outside the surgery room. The stillness between the three of them was taut and anxious as they stared into the window. The beeps from within subsided once more into a long, jarring hum, and one of surgeons, telling the others to stand clear, pressed the defibrillator to his Wally's bloodied chest. Wally's body twitched and fell back into stillness.

Rather suddenly, Dick banged his fists against the glass. John's soporific green eyes met his profile. The surgeons inside continued with their work.

He felt a strong, firm hand grasp his shoulder, and it was then he realized that his eyes were beginning to moisten.

"Goddammit." He gritted his teeth and blinked fiercely. John rubbed his shoulder, and his arm fell limp.

He was soothed by the ensuing, beeping rhythm, and the soft flutter of feathers that brushed behind his ears. He turned, and was met by a stony, boring glare.

Beneath his cowl, Bruce arched an authoritative eyebrow.

"I gave you orders."

"I do not care for your orders. Your orders waste lives." Her reply was waywardly immediate. Bruce said nothing. She tilted her head to face Dick, and her tone was cutting. "You are no less to blame, _you brainless fool_."

John flinched.

"_Shayera, please_-"

"_No!_ Do you think _he'd even be in there_ if this _imbecile_ had not-"

"Do you think _I don't already know that?_"

"_Too late_. Maybe you should have though about what _he was going through _before you-"

"_What _do_ you _careabout what_ he _was_ going through?" _Dick made no attempt to hide his irritation. "It's obvious that _you people_ don't _give_ a flying crap about him!"

"How _dare_ you talk to me like that!"

Her feathers had grown stiff on her wings, and her pupils were small and sharp.

_I'm sorry to interrupt, but we seem to have visitors._

J'onn's clear, calm voice floated into their distracted minds. Dick's eyes danced with disorientation. John raised an amused eyebrow.

"J'onn's telepathic."

"Can you greet them for us?" Bruce's low, guttural voice had become an agitated plea.

_No, I was in the process of questioning Fire. But I have decided that John is the best person to greet them._

"Me, why?"

_They are Green Lanterns. _

John shifted, looking slightly unsettled. Shayera nodded.

"I'll come with you."

She tugged him by the arm, making sure to cast Dick an acidic look before they disappeared down the hall. Dick's sight met with Bruce's, and, after or a moment or two, they each turned to stare into the glass.

**55555555555555555555555555**

"I know, Kara. I know. _God,_ I know." His livid eyes danced on her hunched shoulders. "But that doesn't give you the right to throw her around like she's some kind of rag doll! You _know_ your own strength. You _know_ you cannot afford to get into fights. Especially in your current condition." Kara declined to look up. Clark tightened his fingers around the back of the chair, and he the steal bend around them, like imprints in clay. "She could have _died_. They don't care that you're pregnant, and that you're my cousin. You just can't do things like this."

His face softened. Kara pulled her hood more tightly over her head.

Child. She was nothing more than a child.

He heard the distant squeal of small wheels and the low hum of gossip. He cocked his ears and floated to the door.

"Stay here. I'll be back."

She didn't move, and he lingered a moment longer before darting out into the crowded hallway. Diana stood unmoving by the door, behind the teeming congregation.

"What's happening?"

"Wally's in surgery," she replied quietly. The veins beneath her lids trembled, and the corners of her eyes were tinged with red.

"_What?_" It took him a moment to register the weight of her words.

"He… was shot seven times in the upper-left part of his body." Clark remained mute. The crowd pushed forward. Diana looked beyond them. "Someone told them. They all know. They're all… unsettled. They want to watch the surgery." She inhaled. "We're in bad shape. Wally, Don, Ralph, Michael, Kara… Dinah… they're all out of commission. Beatriz is in holding. Dr. Light and Steel caught her trying to escape in one of the javelins."

Clark was mute. Then,

"God, this is all our fault."

Diana's response was significantly delayed, as if deciding whether or not she was willing to admit to Clark's words.

"Clark, we couldn't have foreseen-"

"No, Diana. No. He only reached drinking age a year and a half ago. He should be finishing his undergrad about now. Instead, he's out risking his life, saving the world. Dead at twenty-three doesn't sound so hot to me. And it's not just him. Look at Kara- nineteen and a mother. For her job. For humanity. And does humanity give a damn? No. Look at Courtney Whitmore. She suffers from chronic depression and she's twenty. Don and Hank aren't doing all that great either. The more I think about it, the more I feel that we need limits"

"I don't disagree, but-"

"But _what_? For _God's sake_, they're still kids. Legal adults, sure. But what the law says isn't always true. They are still kids, and the more they try to act like adults, the more they will put themselves in danger. It isn't right. If he dies… we have to disband. For his sake."

"You're kind of obsessed with disbanding, aren't you? If you really feel that way, you might as well just leave." Oliver smiled grimly. He had materialized by Clark's side, who now appeared slightly startled.

"Were you watching?"

"No, I was with Dinah. Kara busted her up pretty bad. Not to say I didn't expect it." He paused. "They're clearing Wally's area. It's distracting the surgeons. Only Bruce, John and the Grayson kid are allowed to watch. I thin Shay managed to push her way through. From what I've heard it's not so pretty. So far, he's had eighteen heart attacks during the course of the procedure, and his body isn't co-operating with any of the anesthesia. But that's only _what I've heard_." Clark murmured a series of indefinable noises, though most of them seemed to die on his lips before they reached the air. Ollie picked at his beard. "They brought up that Bart kid too, from Central. Barry's grandson. His blood type matches Wally's. I admire the kid. He's only twelve. I think he's a bit traumatized, though. Understandable."

"What about Roy?" Diana pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and observed the slowly dissolving throng.

"What about him?"

"I don't know. You and he…."

"We'll talk. We'll see. How's Kara?"

"I don't know…." Clark gazed up wearily at the throbbing body of people before him. "I just don't know any more."

Ollie shrugged insipidly.

"You know what? Neither do I."

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	12. Chapter 12: Design

Yeah, I know- 'long time, so see'. Please don't beat me- I have an excuse….

Anyway, a lot of talking in this chapter, but a lot of stuff relevant to the plot.

Blurbage:

**Kilowog:** the pig Lantern. He's appeared on JLU before.

**Kyle Rayner:** Young dark-haired Lantern, and Wally's best friend after Dick. Seen on Superman Adventures and on JLU (I forget the title, but it was the episode with the android and Lex and the Atom and the gajillion Lanterns).

**Guy Gardner:** Yet another Lantern, a rather stupid, obnoxious one with red-blond hair and an attitude that needs fixing.

**Kimiyo Hoshi: **Doctor Light, with super cool light powers (she can manipulate light wavelengths, and can create anything from simple beams of light to massive and lethal rays of destruction!).

**Nemesis/Tom Tresser:** Only mentioned once in the chapter, but is important for the future. If you go back to the chapter in which Kara beat up Dinah, he was the one that witnessed the beginning of the fight/broke it up/ helped Dinah when she was injured. He has no powers to speak of, but is really good at technology and was a spy at one point in his life. Also, he sort of looks like Johnny Quest, but with longer hair.

That's about all you need to know.

Note: BMWW fans- please don't kill me.

Note2: Those who know _anything_ about chemistry will know what octyl ethanoate (lol) is, but for the sake of this story, it is 'truth serum'.

Note3: Guy's 'bling' was a dare by someone to add humour into the story. Go figure.

00000000000000000

Chapter 12: Design

"Beatriz had multiple copies of the plans for the new tower at Metropolis and blueprints to the current Watch Tower, plus a whole bunch of documents on our delegation plans and a few mission logs. I haven't seen her current status report yet. I think Steel has it. This is the older one in any case." Kimiyo's face was indifferent as she handed Bruce the tiny blue disc. "She fainted during her debriefing. Our med-bay is now full."

Bruce grunted his irritation and slid the disc into one of the numerous slots along the side of the control-board. A short, brusque silence ensued, and Bruce was suddenly aware for the woman's desire to acknowledged.

"Thank you Doctor Light, that is all I needed from you."

She floated towards the door, pausing by the frame as the steel sheets split apart into the hallway.

"I'm going to try calm the others down, and I'm going to try stop this information from leaking too much." She turned, and her heavy, black hair was long against her silvery cape.

"Good idea."

He pulled up a window on the screen, his eyes scanning the text apathetically as he scrolled down the page. Kimiyo sighed, resigning undecidedly by the door. She tilted back her head, regarding him with her smoldering, amber-flecked eyes. The seconds flashed by on the clock above the ledge, and neither moved.

"Bruce?" Her voice was still impassive, but she looked at him with deep, glittering irises.

"Yes, Kimiyo?" He looked up.

"Get some rest."

A small, indefinite smile broke his stoic lips as she fluttered out the doors.

The room was silent until, a few moments later, Diana emerged through the doors, her face flushed and hesitant where Kimiyo's had once been calm and observant. She walked over to the adjacent controls and, brushing to the side a small cardboard box of files, pushed her thumb into a large, labeled button, and lowered her lips to a velvety panel on beside it.

"Crimson Fox, Atom Smasher and Aztek to the teleporters, please. I repeat, Crimson Fox, Atom Smasher and Aztek to the teleporters. Nemesis and Vixen are to report to forensics _now_."

"Vixen, to _forensics?_" Bruce's voice was accusingly doubtful, but Diana replied with silence as she continued to sort through the boxes. A small window popped up on the contiguous screen, and Diana leaned forward, peering in. Pursing her lips ponderously, she pressed the buzzer once more, and her loud, inexpressive voice boomed over the intercom.

"Stargirl, S.T.R.I.P.E. and Red Tornado to the teleporters, please. Stargirl, S.T.R.I.P.E. and Red Tornado to the teleporters."

Again, the room was flooded with discomfort and silence, and Bruce could not help but be distracted by the iciness in her movements.

"_Diana,_" he uttered at large. It was a plea for her to speak.

She looked at him with defiance, slitting her eyes venomously as they fell upon his cowl.

"_What?_"

"You're angry."

"Yes, Bruce. I'm angry. What of it?"

"Hm." He pursed his lips, as if no longer interested in their conversation, and turned his eyes towards the clock. Diana uncurled to full height, glaring at his profile until the frost between them boomed in her ears.

"_Remember _when you sent_ Wally away_?" Her words were sudden, and gratingly accusatory. Bruce remained mesmerized by the flashing green numbers. "Remember I said something would happen?"

His head turned suddenly, and he gazed at her with unperturbedly through the slits in his cowl.

"You said he would hurt himself, and I disagreed."

"That's beside the point. I told you repeatedly that something bad would happen."

"I did what I thought was best for him. I didn't know he and Dick were planning on having their own adventures."

Diana fell mum, her eyes dull with thought. She trembled slightly, and for a moment, she looked almost absurd.

"You have no remorse, do you?" she murmured at large.

"You're blaming this on me?" It was more a statement than a question. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused and defensive upon her form. "You do realize, though, that regardless of what you say, this only proves that I'm right."

"What?"

"Just stop and look at how _emotionally imbalanced_ you are right now. You aren't even in a _position to work_," Bruce clipped. Diana was speechless. "You can't have relationships with people you work with. You can't have affection for them."

Diana frowned.

"How do you _prevent yourself_ from having _affection_?"

"Conditioning."

For a moment, Diana was unmoving. Slowly and deliberately, her lips began to part.

"What… _are_ you?"

Bruce did not reply as she turned to march out the room. The doors buzzed open to reveal a tall, green-clad figure, but Diana did not salute, merely brushing past.

"Diana…?" Ollie's voice was hesitant in the rectangle, but Diana glared fiercely and continued to walk. Bruce inhaled, raising fatigued eyebrows in thankful welcome. Ollie frowned apprehensively. "What did you say to her?"

"Whatever needed to be said."

Ollie sauntered over.

"You really are an ass sometimes."

Bruce hunched over in agitation.

"What do you want?"

"To…uh… talk."

"Now's not really a good time."

"I know, I just…."

Bruce sighed, and Beatriz's wide-eyed face flashed across the screen.

"It's about Roy, am I right?"

Ollie nodded tentatively.

"Yeah." He paused. "I never realized, when I adopted him, how hard it was… to be a parent."

"Are you asking me something?" Bruce tapped gently on a small, red key, and a selection of text duplicated itself on the screen.

"No, I'm just saying… I want to protect him… and I just don't know how." Ollie rested his elbows onto the vacant part of the control-board, cradling his bearded chin in his enmeshed fingers.

"You are asking us for help," Bruce stated. Ollie threw him a bizarre look, a mixture of confusion and agreement plastered across his pale face. Bruce pulled back his chair and rose from his seat, advancing towards the controls that Diana had deserted earlier. "Ollie… he's your son. What do _you_ want to do with him?"

"You know if we let him go, they'll kill him."

"Knowing Cadmus that's probably true."

"And, you know, well, I figured that he probably has information, if not totally on the Metalface affair, at least on Cadmus itself, that we could use…."

"You want the League to protect him from Cadmus."

"Essentially."

A fleeting quietness fell upon them.

"How willing is _he_ to do this? You don't know that _he_ doesn't want to be a part of Cadmus." Bruce had turned to face Ollie.

"What choice does he have? He violated his orders, let his targets go free, _willingly_ gave information to us-"

"There are technicalities to this. In the sense that, we can harbour him… but not legally. And we'll be asking for an attack by Cadmus."

A sudden desperation had emerged in the blond man's face, and his voice had fallen to low hush.

"Wouldn't you do the same for Dick?"

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but all that left his lips was air, and he shifted uncomfortably in place until he was able to clear the thoughts in his head.

"No… no, I wouldn't. But I'll talk this over with Clark, J'onn, John and Shayera when I can."

"But not Diana?" Bruce cleared his throat, and Ollie smirked. "Forget I said that." Ollie observed Bruce's face darken, and began to chuckle as he turned away. "Oh, you're a funny guy. How much do you think Dick knows about all this?"

"Probably more than he's willing to share, though J'onn was the one debriefing him."

"Yes, but he was only debriefed regarding Wally's assault and that night's mission."

"Hm."

"But you already knew that, and that's why you kept him around, right?" He shrugged. "I'll be in holding-eight if, you know, you've made up your mind and all."

He smiled thankfully at Bruce's draped shoulders and headed out.

**2222222222222222222222222222222**

"Wazzaaaa- mah homeboy!"

John and Shayera had emerged slowly into the holding room, whispering darkly between themselves as they came into view, but the initial shock of the welcome had left them both rather stunned. A rather erect, dark-haired Lantern paled slightly in the corner as the beaming 'welcomer' flashed his teeth at them, seeming quite oblivious of Shayera's stony glare.

John cleared his throat and nodded.

"Kyle, Kilowog…_Guy-_" Guy grinned peevishly and flicked the glowing, green _bling_ around his neck. Kilowog shook his pink head in quiet mortification."- is something the matter?"

"Possibly." Kyle flexed his voice, glaring contempt at Guy as he waved through the glass at a passing member. His eyes fluttered through his mask, and he turned to observe John and Shayera. "We need to talk about to the League's activities."

"Doesn't everybody," muttered Shayera. Her voice was low and teetering, and the level of odium in her tone had not lessened since her confrontation with Dick.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Did we do something to offend the Corps?"

"No, not quite."

"Then?"

"We were wondering if we could, perhaps, talk to the Flash."

"I'm sorry- he's not available right now."

"When-"

"He just came out of surgery," Shayera responded flatly. "I doubt he'll be available for a while."

Kyle winced.

"I'm sure we can be of service though," interpolated John. He was oddly aware of Shayera's current desire to be cold, and wasn't about to let her scare his own peers, though it seemed that Guy was least likely to be mindful of her radiating hostility. Then again, his tact had never staunched Shayera's ability to hit things.

"Maybe," mused Kilowog. "-if you're the ones in charge of who goes in and out of this place."

"Oh?"

"Explain. Now." Shayera had never been all that articulate.

Kyle drew in a long sharp breath, only to be distracted by Guy's 'winking at girls' through the tinted glass paneling.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Shayera snarled and slapped a large protruding button by the door, causing the glass to darken to a stiff, opaque black. Guy's cheerful face melted into a sulky pout, and the room was bathed in a stuffy silence until Kyle was able to regain his composure and, gesturing uncertainly, began to speak.

"About a month ago, we witnessed some odd fluctuations in energy emanating from this general section of the universe, and a direct result of this was the sudden disappearance of the Oa system in the forty-second sector. I mean, no one quite knows what happened to it, but it was spat right back out, and appeared to be in the same condition it had disappeared-"

"So?"

"Hawkgirl, please let me finish. Anyway, a lot of the equator inhabitants of planet Oa claimed to have seen a very fast-moving red blur. And, I think about twelve Earth hours ago, the same thing happened, but this time, after Oa returned, we were able to trace the source of the energy to this system. The Oa inhabitants didn't see the same blur, but they saw something equally interesting. It was clearer this time, and they actually were able to identify it as a person, as he didn't seem to be moving as fast as the red object, and, at one point, this _person_ even came to a complete halt."

"The person was described as about Kyle's height, no mask, red hair and green eyes, and wearing a black suit with a red, orange and yellow splotch across it," uttered Kilowog, observing distractedly a rather vacant spot on the wall.

"A comet," interjected Guy, still rather sullen from Shayera's earlier action.

"But he wasn't wearing a Flash suit. It could have been someone else."

"Shayera-"

"-Yeah, or, he could have been a hologram, considering most people described him as very 'flickery'. Or a ghost. Wo knows?" Kilowog's vexation laced his tone, but he continued to stare into nothingness.

"But there was a Lantern on the planet, investigating its previous disappearance during the time of this one," Kyle stated, indicating Guy.

Guy shrugged.

"I tried to keep up with him, and I vaguely recognized his face, but the give away was that, when I tried to talk to him, the only thing he could say was '_Barry_'."

"How many redheads do you know who know someone called 'Barry'?" nipped Kyle.

"Point taken."

"So… what do you want us to do?"

"All we want to know is _what's going on_, because if this keeps happening-"

"-We're going to have to launch a full scale investigation, _homey_."

Guy grinned disdainfully and tugged at his bling.

**33333333333333333333333333333**

"Do you need something?" Clark's voice was blithe as he watched Bruce skim across the room towards his table. The cafeteria was strangely still and empty around them, and the lights made the room look large and clean.

"We need to all meet and discuss our current status."

"I was thinking that myself. Then again, I don't know if we have the time." Clark sighed, and the fatigue glimmered in his light, pensive eyes.

"We'll have to make the time."

Clark raised a tired eyebrow and finished his sandwich, washing it down with a gulp of canned fruit juice.

"I was trying to convince your son to take a break and eat something." He was crushing the empty can between his nervous, twitching fingers.

"Mm," was Bruce's terse reply.

"We're all worried about him. The surgery was successful but…" he continued to murmur. "Dick takes worrying to a new level. Seriously. I didn't know he and Wally were such good friends."

"Wally practically used to live at the Manor when he was younger."

"Oh?"

"More because Barry was more likely to be strict with him, and he wanted to avoid his parents."

"The two that died at Keystone? I still can't believe he didn't… _tell us_."

"Would he?" Bruce paused. "I'm not sure."

"And that means…?"

A low, rasping garble was his response.

"Oh." Clark paused. He had now moved from crushing the juice can to shredding the tissue paper that had come with his tray. "So… if you don't mind me asking… what's up with you and Diana?"

"_Nothing's_ up." He hesitated, suddenly conscious of his aggressive tone. I'm just getting tired of her drama."

"Diana… drama? Doesn't sound like her."

"I used to think so."

Clark licked his lips, arranging the bits of paper neatly along the edges of the tray.

"Want to… know what I think?" he asked distractedly.

"_No_, but you're probably going to tell me anyway."

A smile tugged at the corner of Clark's mouth, and tissue paper began to flutter around the table.

"Well, firstly, you do realize we support her on the issue of sending Wally away."

"Ah. She didn't set you up to this, did she?"

Clark clicked his tongue, shaking his head. He reached over to the juice bin, sliding a tall can of fruit punch across the table to Bruce. Bruce scrutinized the gift.

"Sorry. Only flavour left."

Bruce ripped off the tab. The can was warm in his hands.

"I was going to send him away even before the Keystone incident. I don't think any of you realize what he was going through."

"And you did?"

"We both watched Barry die, Clark. He was _going to die_ the same way."

Clark drew in a long laboured breath.

"True."

Bruce took a sip of the juice, grimacing slightly at its artificial taste.

"I thought sending him to the surface may help him keep his mind off things, especially after two more deaths."

"I'm surprised no one made a big thing about-"

"Clark- Rudolph West was a fugitive, and he was wanted in about seventeen countries. What he was doing at Keystone, nobody knows. Mary West served a prison sentence for tax evasion and spending government money on trips to Europe."

"Ah. So… I guess that's what you mean by Wally not wanting to tell us?"

"No, but I suppose that's part of it."

"Hm. This changes… a lot. Though I don't see how he could forget all that, considering we sent him back to Keystone."

"Mm," gurgled Bruce. He swallowed, wiping his mouth delicately with his thumb. "I suppose I worded that wrong. I meant that I wanted him to have closure."

"Yeah… that's not the way _Diana_ saw it, but… uh… I can tell her for you."

Bruce's lips had formed a tight, cynical line.

"Go right ahead."

"There is another thing, though." Clark began to collect the errant bits of tissue, scraping them across the table and onto the tray.

"About?"

"Diana. Two things, actually. Firstly that Hippolyta was injured in Cyprus this morning."

"Cyprus?" Bruce seemed amused. "I didn't know about that."

"That's probably because you're overstretched. But I suppose I was also thinking… the fight you two are having about Wally?"

"We're not fighting."

"Whatever. I don't think it's about Wally. I think it's about just the _two of you_."

"Spare me."

"Alright. But think about it." He rose. "I'm going to check on Supergirl and Bart."

"Allen?"

"We don't have any other '_Bart_'s," replied Clark. "Yeah, Bart Allen. He came give blood. He had some sort of breakdown, and I need to find someone to escort him to the surface."

He turned, and was suddenly met by a blank, featureless stare. He receded. Bruce's mouth curved up in relief.

"When did you get back?"

"Now." Vic adjusted his hat. "I just found out a lot of interesting information that you might want to look at." He tossed Bruce a series of coloured, taped plastic folders, marked neatly in black ink with their respective titles and relevancies. "Cadmus isn't completely behind this- not directly," he stated flatly. Bruce raised an eyebrow beneath his cowl.

"And _who_ is?"

"Don't know, but when I showed some of the evidence to Luthor and Amanda, they freaked out and thought I was blackmailing them."

"They could have been lying."

"I doubt it." He pulled two empty syringes out of his purple coat pocket and slapped them onto the tabletop. Bruce's eyebrow went up even further. Clark grinned.

"Impressive. How'd you manage it?"

"Lex was injured and Amanda's a walrus," shrugged Vic. "Concentrated octyl ethanoate makes things a lot faster for me. The helpful thing is that the main component is found in oranges."

"You do realize that this could backfire," Bruce growled, poking gingerly at the nearest needle.

"How? Lex is currently a 'nobody' and Amanda… well… she's another story. For the moment, we're perfectly safe."

"You do realize that the information we have still says that Cadmus was funding these projects."

"Ah," breathed Vic. "I didn't say they _weren't involved_. Just _not directly_."

Clark's face twisted into a mulling frown.

"Someone else pulling strings? Extremists of some sort?"

"Who knows?" Vic turned as Mari walked in through the open doors. "We'll have to just go there and see, eventually… won't we?" He turned his head back sharply, towards Clark. "And you have a bone to pick with them, anyway, don't you?"

Mari steered towards them, her expression vaguely determined as she drew nearer.

"Where's John?"

"With Shayera and the Lanterns."

"With Shayera… and the Lanterns," she repeated drowsily.

"Why?"

"I… needed to give him something. Though I might as well show you. "

"Mm," snorted Bruce, reaching out for the paper between her gloved fingers. "How'd you enjoy '_forensics_'?"

"It was… enlightening. Never done it before. Not my forte, to say the least. Kind of wondered why you put me there."

"Wasn't my decision." Bruce smiled briefly, watching her suck her breath.

"We got the gun scanned for prints and we found nothing. However, we did discover the owner of the gun."

"And?"

"And he was at work during the time of the shooting. He's a graveyard-shift security guard at a local theatre."

"Ah."

"But he lives with his girlfriend- a Lydia Crawson." Mari asserted. "She had her last name legally changed about two years ago."

"Oh, let me guess… it used to be '_West_'?"

"Yeah… and apparently she was bipolar, and periodically suffered from hallucinations."

"We have to bring her in." There was a sudden, heated undertow to Vic's voice. Clark nodded concession, and Mari placed her hands smugly on her hips.

"Not necessary- she killed herself a few hours ago."

"Wonderful."

"Also we found out that Wally's parents-"

"-Were criminals and wanted by the government, and weren't even supposed to be in Keystone?" Clark's earnestness earned a look of ennui from the other three.

"Not what I was going to say, but close enough. It's in the report." She tilted her head towards Bruce. "Did you know that the messaging system is down? We're wasting a lot of paper and CD-R discs."

"I noticed."

The four fell into a brooding silence until Vic rubbed his chin, his mask stretching oddly as if making an expression of bemusement beneath it.

"This is just the most _fantastic week_, isn't it?"

Mari sighed and stood still in place for a long while before turning towards the exit.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. I really don't. This place is a mess."

Vic sighed, and there was a hint of defeat in his voice.

"Couldn't agree more."

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	13. Chapter 13: Detection

Aie! It seems like I've been away from here in… forever! 

I'm genuinely sorry to all of you who were following this story. I've been awfully busy the past months, and it seems like I have had no time for fiction. :(

I'm not going to give you guys any profiles on people in this chapter, because I think most fans of JLU now know a lot more about DCU than when I started this fic (i.e. Superboy, Bart, Cassie Sandsmark, etc. aren't really new people to any of you). If you still don't know who these people are, send me a message. Wikipedia is always good too. :)

Anyway, this chapter is mostly dialogue. I hope you enjoy. :D

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Chapter 13: Detection

A dark figure loomed ominously in the doorway,

"Go. Eat. Now."

"Nice to see you too." Dick let the cold water run over his fingers, and splashed some carelessly on this his face, a few droplets settling in his hair. Bruce seemed to hover across the tile.

"You do realize it could be days before he wakes up."

"Yeah."

"So?" Bruce's implicit accusation rang in Dick's ears.

Dick shook his head agitatedly.

"What?"

"Do you think waiting there like some sort of fool is going to erase your guilt? Like it's a penance?"

"Well, I don't want to just be outside like that. Hell, I've been here for less than twelve hours and I can already feel the politics of this place. The 'hawk-bitch' has a problem with me, at any-rate. Can't move around anywhere without her barking at me. Thank God the GLs distracted her."

Bruce's ears pricked at the reference to Shayera.

"Politics exist everywhere. You can't change that-"

"-It was something else, though," quipped Dick, flushed. "Something he said."

"Which was?"

Dick shifted uneasily.

"I… he said that I wasn't there for him. You know… after Barry died."

"And you're making up for that in case this happens to be Wally's deathbed?"

"I don't know," he paused ruefully. "He said that… he went '_crying to you_'."

"Did he?"

"'_You weren't there, Dick. You were in India. Something you declined to tell me before you left. I had to go crying to Bruce.'_ Those were his exact words."

"Don't take it too seriously."

"Bruce, he's like my…-"

"-Brother? I _know_. I've seen you grow up together. But brothers don't tell each other everything."

For a long while, they stood staring.

Dick's eyes hovered on the brow of Bruce's cowl.

"I don't want him to die because of something I made him do."

"It was his choice."

"And it was mine too. I made him do it. I manipulated him." Dick looked up sharply. "And I manipulated him because you manipulated me. I let him believe that he was doing this _for me_."

"And?"

"And, _nothing_." He breathed quietly and scratched behind his ear, his eyes still on Bruce.

"Don't-"

"_This_ is _painful_ for me, okay? Seeing Wally get shot. Or just, even, seeing him _at all_, and pretending it's all good. Seeing Roy. Seeing _you_. Falling prey to your _games,_ _again_."

"You agreed to this."

"And what else was I supposed to do? Say 'no'?"

"I wouldn't have questioned if you had."

"That's _not the point!_" Dick inhaled desperately. "And even if I had, you would have hung up, and that would have been it. Because every time you pick up the phone to call me, it's about work, and what you want me to do for you, and every time you hang up, you leave me with all these things in my head, that I can never get out, so I'm telling you now."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no you're not. You know what Wally said to me at that place? To stop competing with you because you're my _father_. But you'll never love me the way a father loves a son. No matter how much I hate you, or miss you, or wish you were there. All you care about is what _you want_. Do you even think of me at all?"

Bruce breathed his defeat and turned towards the exit, leaving Dick to sigh his agitation behind him. He darted through the doorway, and dull, torn pictures of someone else's childhood littered his mind.

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Ralph's lithe fingers wound smoothly around the bedpost as he stared down onto Michael's quiet face, his eyes dull and unresponsive.

"I heard you woke up… just, you know, coming to check on you." A long, prickled silence ensued, and Ralph sighed, his fingers unwinding, and his body still aching from his burns. There was sorrow in Michael's face.

Ralph turned to leave.

"Where's Beatriz?" Michael pricked his ears, suddenly fearfully alert.

"Beatriz? Oh, right. She's…uh… she's in holding. Um, yeah… long story." Ralph twisted his arm back around his spine, scratching at a spot slightly below his shoulder-blade. "Wh-"

"-They didn't… they aren't…." His pupils almost dilated with panic.

"Mike," he started slowly. "she… _betrayed the League_."

Michael looked almost numb, and he was silent until Ralph shifted in his place.

"You don't understand," he murmured deliriously. "She wasn't doing it because she wanted to- _we've got to help her_!"

Ralph blinked dumbly, then tapped his foot in bemused meditation.

"Right… hang on a sec, okay?"

"O…okay."

Ralph slipped out the doors. He stretched out one of his arms to tap a woman in mint-green medical scrubs on the shoulder. She turned around, blinking quizzically.

"May I help you?"

"Yeah… uh… can you make sure Booster doesn't get out of his room or anything? He's… still a bit _cuckoo_ from his burns."

"Alright, thank you, sir." The woman smiled coldly, and nudged her way past him, adjusting the mousy-brown, tightly-wound bun that sat atop her head. Ralph raised a perturbed eyebrow.

He slunk down the hallway, his arms coiling around him. He stopped by the last set of doors in the hallway. The room was locked. Ralph sniffed, and, ensuring no one was around to look, flattened himself against the ground and slid under the doors.

"Surprise, Dinah." He grinned, and drew up to full form.

Dinah half-smiled back.

"Hi, there."

"Were you resting or something?"

"No, the med-people were _making_ me rest. I'm bored to death. I told them not to lock the doors. Too sore to get up and unlock them, though"

"Heh. Thought so. I heard you screaming at them through the wall."

Dinah chewed her lip, and scribbled graphite letters into the boxes of a crossword puzzle sitting on her lap. Ralph seated himself on the edge of her mattress.

"What've you been up to?" She asked it indifferently, her eyes scrolling across the page.

" I was at Mike's just now. Jesus- those burns are making him hallucinate." His eyes widened slightly, insinuatingly.  
"Why, what's he saying?"

"That Beatriz was betraying to League against her will." He coughed insipidly. "How're you feeling, Di?"

"Bruised. Mostly my pride though. Enlighten me on this Beatriz thing." Her eyes continued to scan the page. She chewed on the end of the pencil.

"I honestly don't know much about it, because, seriously, no once cares to tell me, but from what I've heard, she had a whole bunch of blueprints and mission logs, not to mention member profiles."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"No reason really," she mused. "Ollie's been telling me that the place is a real mess."

"Yeah, and there's a chunk of people out of commission too."

"Figures. Though the whole thing was just waiting to happen since New Mexico."

"Yeah. And the Keystone thing. And the founding seven aren't helping much. They're making such weird decisions about everything. Crimson Fox, Atom Smasher and Aztek have been sent to replace the clean-up crew- I mean... come on!-" Ralph snorted indignation. Dinah twitched with a sudden alertness.

"What? Say that again?"

"The Keyst-"

"No, who's being sent to replace the clean-up people?" She cut in sharply.

"Crimson Fox, Atom Smasher and Aztek…?" Something frantic arose in Dinah's eyes. Ralph paused. "What…what is it- ohhhh." He pursed his lips, thunderstruck, and suddenly perfectly aware of the pale message in Dinah's taut face. "Oh, shit. D'Aramis?"

"_I'm pretty sure_, but I can't help you. I can't do anything. Not in this condition."

"I know," he replied grimly. "Let _me_."

The doors zapped open and Ralph raced out.

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Clark cleared his throat.

"Okay, I'm going to read out our top priorities and their statuses so far. No comments will be made until all of them have been read through." The five nodded accession. Clark took in a breath. "Regarding the Keystone incident. This is what we know so far: A) Galvatech created the designs for the giant robot that attacked, and the designs were stolen from them during the explosions, though we now have enough evidence to believe that it was someone from Spartan that did this; B) Cadmus was not directly involved in the Keystone incident, although Cadmus Agent Roy Harper was sent there to prevent any infiltration by the League. We know that Nightwing did attempt to get more information, with Wally's help, and that both he and Agent Harper are both wanted by Cadmus; D) someone inside the League, who we now know to be Fire, was trying to prevent further investigation into this affair, and she is currently in our custody. We are not sure if there are others in involved with this matter. Regarding Wally, a few minutes ago, we received a message from the Chief of Police of Keystone City stating that, after much thought, the city _has_ decided to press charges because, after viewing the tape many times, they have decided the delay in his response was _deliberate_," Clark's ears pricked as the members around the table began to murmur. "This is true despite the fact that the man and woman whose deaths Wally is apparently responsible for were considered criminals and traitors to the country. I conveyed to them, on our behalf, our greatest disapproval. In addition to this, the Green Lantern Corps has launched a full investigation regarding Wally's appearance on Oa, feeling that he had something to do with Oa's temporary disappearance. They are waiting for him to come out of surgery," Clark sighed. "Which also brings me to the point that the woman responsible for putting Wally there, who we now know to be his sister, committed suicide. So we don't know why she did it, and may never know." There was a brief silence, and Clark cleared his throat once more. "Comments? Thoughts?"

"I can't believe this. They're pressing _charges_? He's saved them so many times, and _this_ is what he _gets_?" Shayera glared at the sheet of folded paper between Clark's stiff fingers. Clark pursed his lips.

"Yeah, I was… angry, to say the least."

"I think we all are," John exhaled slowly. "It's really a shame that they'd do this." He paused. "What kind of charges are we looking at?"

"We're looking at two counts of criminal negligence causing death. If convicted-"

"But they have to take into account that they were criminals, and that Wally saved a whole bunch of people that day. It's not right-"

"Then we should fight them on this! They-"

"No." Bruce's threatening, guttural voice cut through Shayera's words. "Our relationship with the public is already fragile. Stopping the judiciary system from doing what it's there to do will make them more cynical than they already are. They need to see that the League is not untouchable, and that we are willing to abide by the laws of the country itself, and not make up our own."

"But they have to know that he tried-"

"Maybe they do know. Maybe they don't. What they know for sure is that Wally is a _meta-human_, that they are _still_ scared of _meta-humans_, and if they have the chance to make an example of one, especially a celebrity, they will. And if we don't let them, I don't think we'll be able to handle the insurrection that follows-"

"We can't let him _go to jail_ for serving _his country_-"

"As I was _going_ to say," spouted Clark grimly. "If he is convicted, we could be looking at least five years in a high-security meta-human detention facility, given that the victims were criminals, though I suspect years may be added on if-"

"-_What? _This is complete and utter_ nonsense-"_

"-After New Mexico, the constitution was amended to treat meta-humans differently," Clark inserted impatiently. "Anyway, assuming this happens, his identity will be compromised. They _will _know that his name is Wallace Rudolph West. They _will_ know everyone in his family, and all his friends and acquaintances. But being the Flash, they, meaning the government, or affiliated organizations, might try to pull information out of him, which could prove dangerous to all of us."

"Meaning, our identities would be compromised too?"

"Yeah, that would definitely be a problem for Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent, but there could be other problems too."

"Okay, how about we look at the immediate problem of determining whether or not he's even going to come out of this _alive_. Clearly he's not healing the way he usually does. He'd be out of surgery and fully functional by now if things were normal."

"May I make an unrelated comment?"

There was a long, stiff pause, and Clark cleared his throat.

"Go ahead."

"I've been thinking hard about this, and I realize we are short on help and that I am needed here, but my mother needs me as well. As you all probably know, she was injured in Cyprus. I want to help her, and her army, recover."

"Are you asking our permission to leave?"

"I-"

She was cut off by a robotic, static-laced female voice.

"We have Titans Tower on line-'twenty-two'."

Bruce grimaced, tapping edgily at a button beneath the table-top.

"Tell them to wait."

"They say it's urgent," replied the monotonous, static-dotted voice.

"_We'll be there in a moment._"

"They say it's about the Flash."

Bruce paused, throwing a quick, furtive glance towards Clark.

"Alright."

A thin flicker of light, and there was suddenly a large, holographic screen floating squarely in the centre of the table, boasting its three-dimensionality.

"Justice League?" A robust, orange-skinned woman peered in uncertainly, strands of her hair straying over her large, emerald eyes. She brushed them away.

"Yes, Starfire."

"We have some urgent news that Kid Flash would like to convey to you."

"Put him on."

Raven glided into view, her face cloaked in shadow. A loud buzzing noise succeeded her arrival. Shayera winced.

"What's that noise?"

"It's Bart," replied Raven quietly, her voice speckled with static. "He's trying to talk to us, but the only one who can see or hear him is Superboy, since he is vibrating and communication to fast for anyone to perceive him."

"Can't… he slow down?"

"No, which is the problem." Superboy suddenly floated into view. "He says, since the blood transfusion with Wally, he's gradually been receiving increasing amounts of speed, and he cannot control how much he absorbs. He claims that _all of it_… is coming from Wally." He paused briefly, uncertain of his wording. "Wally's being absorbed by the Speed-Force."

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Oh noes! Wally _is_ going to die after all! Or… is he? We shall see….

Thanks, again, to all of you who stuck around. You guys are awesome. D

Quick note: In the recent future, I shall be changing my name from **Hersenschim** to **Staplerchild**. So, in case you wonder who that is, that's _me_.


	14. Chapter 14: Discovery

Maybe I'll complete this story after all. Sorry if it isn't up to par with what I've written previously.

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Chapter 14: Discovery

Shortly after the meeting, the Watchtower fell further into chaos, and Dick had been there to watch its painful, helpless degeneration. He'd expected more grandeur- more façade to the place, and while he'd seen through the forced civility projected by its members, inevitably a mark of its professionalism, he realized that the League was only a few moments away from drawing its anticlimactic last breath. Consequently, Bruce had forced him to flee.

"They've issued us subpoenas. I suspect they know we're housing you, given our personal affiliation outside the League. We've made special arrangements for Roy given his circumstance," was his low-voiced send-off. He'd brusquely thrust a communication module into Dick's gloved hands before turning away from the teleporters; it hadn't prevented Dick from sensing his apprehension. "I don't doubt your ability to lay low, but be careful."

Now, as Dick skidded down the night highway, he endured Shayera's patronizingly laconic breakdown of what the future held for him.

"_Don't stay in Blüdhaven. They'll look for you there. Don't go to Gotham either,_" she buzzed, her contempt apparent. Dick was continually surprised by his ability to tolerate her.

"The subpoenas." He had to shout over the wind and the whirring of the bike's motor. "What are you going to tell them about Wally?"

"_That he's recovering from surgery._ "

While it had been true not long ago, it was currently a lie. Shayera herself had been the one to discover Wally's disappearance from his room; her mothering instinct had sent her to check on him immediately after their dispersion. It had been unnerving, seeing that empty bed- the blood-bag dribbling ominously onto the floor. Truthfully, no one had seen him leave, and the surveillance tape had only pulled up a rippling blanket of noise. All the Lanterns but John and Kyle had found it suspicious, citing some sort of guilty escape.

Wally wasn't like that. He'd never been. He had always been ready to accept the blame for anything he'd done. Not like Roy. Not like Garth. Not like himself. To a degree, anyway. He'd always taken responsibility for inconsequential things, to show others he was a good leader and that he was capable of admitting to his faults. He'd let people like Roy berate him for those things to gain their trust. That was the Bruce in him.

Dick switched channels.

"Barbara? You there?"

"_Sure am, babe. What's your status?_" His lips succumbed to a reluctant smile.

"Bad … no- worse. Like, everyone from the League, including Roy, has been issued subpoenas. Everyone known to be American, anyway. I gave Bruce the files but he wanted to be clean just in case, so we're going to have to look at them together. Only problem is we can't meet in Gotham or Blüdhaven. Wally's disappeared from his recovery room, so I have no one to help in transporting you."

"You have _me_." His eyes widened, his bike swerving abruptly. Sparks fountained from the tail.

"_Dick? You there? Who is that?_"

Dick regained his composure, looking up to observe his hovering, light-bathed intruder.

"We don't need the Lanterns' help." Kyle's face was momentarily unresponsive. He reclined his head in resolution.

"I'm not offering my help. I have orders to follow you."

"I'm not part of the League."

"But you have an interest in finding Wally, we believe he's tied up in whatever other thing you're investigating. Orders are orders, Nightwing." His voice was patient, void of any real forcefulness or derision. It was almost pleading. "I won't be in your way. I have no disdain for you. Wally was my friend too, and I'm worried about how the other Lanterns are planning to deal with him. I don't think they know-"

"That may be very well, but he's no longer relevant to the mission I'm on now. All he did was help me retrieve something. If you really do think following me will do you any good, by all means, be my guest." Dick turned sharply and resumed his journey towards the abyss, leaving Kyle to drift alone in his confusion.

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The hall was regal, but it echoed with ancient fear. Statues carved of marble and gold, their faces were frozen in grotesque expressions of hedonic pleasure, their lips were parted self-aware faux-amusement. But the columns were beautiful.

And there she sat across the floor, cross legged, adorned in stars. She, Donna Troy, sister of the great Diana. She wouldn't look at him.

"Shitty, that I have to stay here." Roy finally uttered. He scraped a something sticky and black off the tip of his bow. He bitterly marveled at how easily miscommunication could cause a few feet to seem like an ocean; the mistrust in her eyes made it seem even further.

"The island is not meant for men."

Donna had been called by Diana upon his arrival at the Watch Tower, and the reason for his presence there had shocked her out of her complacent dream. Curled and naked in her bed, she'd felt betrayed somehow, that the man she thought she'd known had turned out to be the liar she had hoped he wasn't. Yet he seemed almost unperturbed by the consequences of his actions; all he really wanted was her approval.

Donna wouldn't give him any.

"I know," he murmured at large.

"Is there anything you don't know?" Her words accusatory, but there was a sadness to them, for her disillusionment was still taking hold. Roy felt it. It rang in his voice too.

"Donna, please." He tried to move forward, but she recoiled, far away, across the tile. His shoulders slumped, his body echoing defeat. "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it?" She lashed out, and she had the right to. She was Donna Troy, and she deserved a man more uncomplicated than he. But they were all complicated, and they both knew they were running the same discoloured memories over and over again in their heads. She knitted her brows. "_Well?_"

"_Please,_ ladies." Diana burst into the hall, light streaming in behind her. Brilliance flooded the room, and, for a moment, the room was engulfed in white-hot fire. As it subsided, Diana turned, beckoning. "We have bigger concerns."

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"I thought you said we weren't supposed to meet in Gotham?" Barbara raised a questioning eyebrow, setting her mint julep on her control panel. The room was lit solely by the flickering of her monitors; her eyes and smile caught the light.

In the dark, she was still radiant.

"They don't think I'm stupid enough to come back here." The place was littered with old notes and crumpled paper; chalk maps lined the walls, and the air stank of must. Pictures, CDs, case files. She was as thorough as Bruce in her own right, yet she was far more decorous.

"Are you saying you are? This is the first place they are going to look." Her auburn hair curled carelessly around her face, the corners of her mouth raised in quiet amusement. Despite the circumstances of his visit, Dick couldn't help but reciprocate.

"No, the first place they are going to look is Metropolis. That was where I was teleported. I made sure to be seen." He spoke pointedly. Barbara swiveled in her wheelchair to address the ensuing sigh.

"Hi, Kyle. Didn't know you were stopping by."

"Purely business." His eyes scanned the room in silent observation. He fronted placidity but his arms were folded defensively against his body. Dick pulled up a chair, reaching for the unfinished julep.

"He's following me to find Wally. He doesn't seem to get that he won't have any luck since this Spartan Labs thing doesn't have anything to do with it."

He slipped Barbara a small plastic-encased disc, which she quickly unwrapped and slid into the dark slit on the face of her computer. The screen flickered momentarily as she pulled up several windows, mostly crammed with text and blueprint images. A final window contained a set of head shots, names scrawled unevenly beneath.

"Realise-" Kyle was harshly emphatic. "Realise that I'm also an American and am allowed to have an interest in the goings on of my own country. If you guys had told me what you were investigating sooner, I could have given you more info." He paused, resting his eyes on the monitor. "I know those people."

"So do I," Barbara glanced over to the other side of her desk, attempting to reach for a set of dog-eared post-its. Dick handed them to her, wordlessly expressing his curiosity upon eye contact. She indulged him. "About a year ago Dinah was out of commission for personal reasons. You remember that?"

"Yeah." Dick reclined in his intent.

"She was pregnant with Ollie. She miscarried. Some thugs, or so we thought at the time, they'd drugged and kidnapped Ollie after finding out. Their ransom was the corpse of this child. Dinah had no choice but to give up the body of her daughter. She was distraught after the whole thing, so she talked to me about it. I did some research and found out that these guys had formerly been under the employment of Gabriel Vasquez."

"Who is that?"

"My dad," interjected Kyle. "He used to be CIA."

"Vasquez, eh? Never knew you were Mexican." Dick took a languorous sip of the julep, offering it, as a last thought, to Kyle.

"Funny, what a difference a name makes." Kyle smiled his sarcasm. Dick took another sip.

"Anyway." Babs pulled up another window. The contents were garbled. "I contacted Kyle about this, since he was on leave from the GLs. We found nothing."

"That's it?"

"No. Dinah tried to go back to that place on another mission, but her partner, Kara- she alerted the League of her strange behavior. Dinah was suspended. Dinah did find something though. An abandoned robot prototype that had her Scream."

"She didn't tell the League?"

"She was hesitant about Clark, so she told Bruce and Diana instead. He kept it on file, but none of us made the connection until a half an hour before you arrived."

"Which is?" Dick sat up, alert.

"Well, what does Dinah's Scream do?"

"Paralyzes people." His face betrayed a nearly imperceptible disconcertedness.

"What happened to Wally the day of the Keystone incident?"

"He was… paralyzed… kinda?"

"No, he _was _paralyzed. The robot was facing him directly. The robot's sound transmitter was damaged beyond repair so we were unable to identify it till we knew what we were looking at."

"No one else heard it though- the Scream."

"Right." Her triumph was evident. "Because it's a higher frequency variant."

"Why did it only affect Wally?" Kyle's question was sudden, and Barbara pivoted to face him.

"I'm not sure about that yet."

"Maybe the radius of the scream was small enough that it only affected him?"

The breeze and mechanical lull of the fan in the corner lured them into a temporary silence.

"All this while, he thought it was himself. He blamed himself, and everyone blamed him," Dick muttered quietly. He set the empty glass down with a submissive 'clunk'. Barbara pursed her lips, clasping her hands in empathy. She lowered her eyes.

"No one could have known."

"With all the technology we have, they should have." It was an a-tonal sort of anger that coloured hs words. Barbara acceded, handing him a single sheet of paper.

"There's one more thing. Bruce had me exhume the bodies of Wally's parents."

"Oh yeah?"

"The coffins were empty but for traces of clay."

"You're shitting me. Clayface?" Dick's jaw began to work as he settled back in his chair. "This whole thing was a massive set-up. Damnit!" Kyle crossed his arms, lowering his head in a resignation.

"We've got to find Wally. If he's alive, he's probably really fucked up," he said at last. A quiet anxiety trembled beneath the layers of his statement. He abruptly lunged forward and leaned over the controls, his fingers quickly skimming the keys. Barbara moved aside.

"Calling Titans Tower again. "Guys. Do you read us? Guys?"

For a moment, the world was soundless. Then-

"_Hello, Green Lantern._" A blurred figure crossed the screen through the static.

"As a speedster, Bart should be receiving-"

Dick shot him a perplexed glance. He hadn't told him about Bart.

"_No, the amount of speed has been reduced. He is able to control it. Wally is no longer transmitting at full capacity_." It was a pale face, shrouded in dark cloth. The violet eyes were unmistakable.

"Do you think you can figure out where he is using Bart?"

"_I would have thought you'd have found him by now." _Raven narrowed her eyes slightly. She was unable to see her audience through the darkness of the other side.

"Just cut to it and tell me."

"_Nowhere in Kansas is safe for him. The only other places he'd go are the Himalayas or Wayne Manor. Those are the only places he'd feel safe." _Her tone became more solicitous. _"This is merely a guess. Bart says he might be in Metropolis too. That is where his last direct interaction with the Speed Force occurred._"

"Wait… is there any way for Bart to increase the amount of energy he is receiving?"

"_Bart says 'yes'._"

"Is there any sort of surface heat-scan you can do to determine if there is a corresponding exothermic spot somewhere on the continent?"

"_Not accurately… not with what we have now._"

Dick suddenly unseated himself, reaching forward to disconnect the call. As the screen imploded, he turned to face the two. Kyle gestured in exasperation.

"Guys, I think we're looking at this all wrong. I think… I think Wally's in Greece."

"_Greece_?" Barbara's skepticism was thinly veiled.

"Dick, we're not going to Greece on a hunch."

"No? I am."

The three fell into a strained silence. Dick began to move towards the exit.

"That's fine." Barbara finally turned up the lights; the three squinted in their wake. "You're being looked for anyway. You might as well find Wally and stay with him. Kyle, I know you were supposed to find Wally, but we need a favour of you."

"Anything." He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare, but he was assiduous.

"The real Spartan Headquarters are near the Belle Reve meta-human imprisonment facility in Louisiana. I need you to go find out what they are doing there. Dick, you know where to find a jet. I've sent Alfred his orders."

In a moment, Kyle was gone, and Barbara had turned to resume her work.

Dick lingered a moment before nodding his assent and dissolving into the twilight. The lights turned off and Barbara closed her eyes.

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